Snap Shots
by OtakuEntertainmentInc
Summary: My answers to the 100 Themes challenge for Roy and Riza. Rated T for safety. Warning: may contain anime/manga spoilers so read at your own risk. 53 - One sound, a myriad of different meanings.
1. Military Personnel

_A/N: What better way to start a series of challengeshots than with a glimpse of most of the major players? This particular submission is more a general 'family' piece; don't you worry, there will be plenty of Royza later on. :)_

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**One - Military Personnel**

"Whoa!"

A sudden weight colliding with him from the side sent Roy sprawling on the floor amid a snowstorm of papers. He sat up just as Riza stepped between him and the young man who'd knocked him over; the latter was madly scrambling to get all his documents back together, blushing bright red.

"I'm so sorry, sir, I couldn't see where I was going, it was an accident, I swear it was!" A mass of paper clutched to his chest, he looked up, expression desperate. "Are you all right?"

Any retort Roy had been prepared to spit out faded as he got a good look at the unfortunate soldier; he was just a kid. "Don't worry about it; accidents happen." He caught Hawkeye's gaze, nodding that everything was okay; she immediately crouched, helping to gather the young man's papers.

"Um . . . sir? Are you going to report me for this?"

Roy gave a quiet laugh. "Why would I do that?"

"Well . . . ." The kid looked down, ordering the papers in his hands. "The same thing happened before; I fell into General Grand a month ago. He reported me."

"I'm not Grand," was the wry answer. He held out hand. "Colonel Roy Mustang."

That finally drew a shy smile. "Sergeant Kain Fuery. Pleased to meet you, sir."

* * *

"Hey; I was wondering if you could help me out?"

The man behind the desk, hair half silver, half black, looked up. "Of course, sir. What can I do for you?"

Leaning on the high edge, Roy folded his arms. "I was just down here about an hour ago, and I dropped off a stack of files — about eight or nine — but I forgot to get the case numbers off of them for my records. Do you know where they would be?"

Expression turning apologetic, the man shook his head. "I'm sorry, Major, those files have already been taken down to the archive room. You'll need special permission to go down there."

Grimacing, Roy ran a hand across his face. "Damn. Hawkeye's gonna kill me for slipping up like this. Do you have the information on file here?"

"Not . . . officially . . . ." the man said, obviously reluctant. "But . . . well, I glanced through them before they went down to the archives. I remember the case numbers."

Roy stared for a moment. ". . . Each of those numbers is nine digits long," he said at last, his tone a giveaway as to how impressed he was. "Altogether, that's eighty-one numbers . . . ." He tilted his head to one side in curiosity. "What's your name?"

"Sergeant Vato Falman, sir."

* * *

"Any idea what's wrong with it?"

Dealing the truck tire a blow with the toe of his boot, the driver — a Sergeant-Major with a shock of sandy-blond hair — shook his head. "Sorry, sir. This is one of the oldest trucks that East Headquarters has; she breaks down a lot for any number of reasons." Turning, he climbed back up into the cab with his two passengers. "I radioed the base; they'll have another ride for you out here in an hour."

"Thanks." Silence descended for a moment, before Roy spoke again. "Got a name?"

The younger man winced slightly. "Sergeant-Major Jean Havoc, sir." He hesitated. "I suppose you're asking because you'll be filing a report on this incident?"

"Nope. I'd just rather not refer to you as a pronoun for the next hour." Leaning forward in his seat, Roy held out a hand. "Lieutenant-Colonel Roy Mustang."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Havoc answered, shaking the profferred hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Damn; nothing bad, I hope." Roy grinned, settling back in seat as he indicated the woman sitting between them in the cab. "This is Second Lieutenant Hawkeye."

* * *

"Hey, Havoc!"

Glancing quickly toward the door to the inner office, and his two superiors within, Havoc got up from his desk and headed for the door. "What are you doing? You trying to get me in trouble?"

Leaning on the doorframe, Heymans Breda grinned. "Since when do you care about getting in trouble? You get out of the motor pool and into an office, and suddenly you're too good to slum it with the rest of us in the lower ranks?" He shook his head in mock sadness. "You've sure changed since the Academy."

"What's this - a roommates' reunion?"

Both men looked toward the inner office to find a smirking Lieutenant-Colonel crossing toward them, trailed by a blonde Second Lieutenant who was studying a file. Both Havoc and Breda came swiftly to attention.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Roy Mustang; Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye — this is Sergeant-Major Heymans Breda," Havoc explained. "Not a roommate, sir, just a friend from my class at the Academy."

"Sorry to just drop by, sir," Breda put in. "I didn't mean to drag Havoc away from his work."

"No problem; sometimes it's better to take a break once in a while," Roy answered, shrugging easily and ignoring the doubtful glance that Hawkeye shot his way.

* * *

"It is with great pride and pleasure that, in recognition of meritorious conduct and service to her country, the Amestrian Military confers upon Riza Hawkeye the rank of First Lieutenant."

As the announcer finished the sentence, Führer Bradley took a small, thin black case from a waiting assistant and passed it to the new officer standing to attention in front of him. He shook Riza's hand briefly, with a murmured "Congratulations," and then moved on to the next person in line on the platform.

Seated three rows from the front of the audience, Roy watched as those brown eyes searched him out, smiling as they found him. He gave a small nod to show his pride in her; her expression remained mostly neutral, except for the gratitude in her eyes that only he could see. Gratitude to him, and the rest of their little "family" for coming today.

As if he would have missed it. Not for the world.


	2. Gunshot

_A/N: Today's challengeshot is brought to you with inspiration from Criminal Minds, when SSA Hotchner is instructing Reid on how to shoot. Who says Roy can't learn the same way?_

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**Two - Gunshot**

He stood behind the ledge, within the range's little cubicle, staring down the sights of a handgun at the target twenty-five metres away. He had ten shots left in the clip, five already having expended themselves in the paper person outline.

None of them had gone where he intended.

Growling in irritation, Roy lowered the gun, staring at the five bullet holes scattered around the stomach area of the target. "Hawkeye, I think the sights on this thing are off."

She stepped forward, holding one hand out for the weapon. "May I see it, Major?" She took his place in the firing booth as he passed her the gun. Planting her feet, she lifted it, one eye closed as she sighted down the barrel. She fired five times in rapid succession; five holes appeared in the centre of the target's head.

Blank-faced, the blonde young woman turned to her scowling superior. "The sights are fine, sir."

"Show-off," he muttered. "I should've known better than to ask a sharpshooter." Running a hand back through his hair in exasperation, Roy shook his head. "At this rate, I'll fail my qualifications for sure; there goes my chances of promotion."

Hawkeye regarded him thoughtfully. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

She set the gun on the ledge, folding her hands behind her back as she faced him again. "Major, when you fire a gun, what do you do?"

His brow furrowed at the question. "What do I do? It's a simple case of aim and pull the trigger, isn't it?"

"If you don't care what part of the target you hit, yes," she answered dryly. "But if you want to make a better impression on your qualifications, it would be best if you could hit the same part of that target at least five times in a row. For that, you need to aim, fire, then follow through."

Hawkeye picked up the gun again. "Here . . . ." Turning, she set herself facing the target, weapon extended in front at shoulder height. "The sights are used to help you gauge where to aim; once you fire, you have to be prepared to dampen the recoil and bring the gun back to your original line of fire."

She fired, and Roy watched carefully; she aimed for the centre of the target's chest, pulled the trigger, and brought the gun back from its recoil to her original position. "You see? Front sight, trigger press, follow through." Stepping to the side, so that he could join her in the booth, she offered him the gun, grip-first. "Your turn."

He stepped up, taking his weapon back and levelling it at the target. Front sight —

"Hold on," Hawkeye said. Reaching out, she tapped one finger against his left hand. "This hand should be supporting your gun hand; hold it from underneath — right, like that. Make sure your arms are straight and level. Good. Now; front sight, trigger press, follow through."

Roy closed one eye as he aimed, then fired, letting his gun come back down from the recoil and holding that position. On the target outline, a new hole was punched in the shoulder. ". . . That's not right. I was aiming for the chest."

Frowning in thought, Hawkeye studied the target, then looked back at him. "You only used one eye for the front sight?" He nodded. "Did you use your dominant eye?"

". . . My what?"

Her face took on a patient look. "Everybody has a dominant eye, just like they have a dominant hand. Mine is my left." She raised a hand, one finger pointing upward. "Keep looking at my finger, but close one eye, then the other. Watch and see if the finger seems to move."

Doing as he was told, Roy tested his left eye first, then his right. ". . . It moves when I just have my left eye open."

Hawkeye nodded, lowering her hand. "Then your right eye is dominant. If you're going to sight your target with one eye, use your right, not your left." She nodded toward the target. "Try again."

Resuming his firing stance, Roy mentally went over everything she'd told him so far. Left hand supports right. Arms straight and level. Left eye closed. Front sight. Trigger. Follow through.

A new hole appeared with the ones Hawkeye had already fired into the target's chest. Roy's eyebrows shot upward. "Hey! It worked!"

Behind him, the short-haired blonde gave a rare, small smile. "Congratulations, sir. If you use that technique, you'll have no problem passing your qualifications."

"Yeah . . . ." Turning to face her, Roy hefted the gun in his hand, looking at it thoughtfully. "But here's hoping I never have cause to actually use it against somebody."

"Of course not, sir." Her expression was determined as he looked up. "That's what you have me for."


	3. Battlefield

_A/N: Thanks to all the wonderful people who have given reviews! I **could** write a story about just another battlefield they find themselves on . . . but I'd rather put them on a different kind. I do not own FMA._

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**Three - Battlefield**

"Sir, just stop and listen for five minutes —"

"I've done all the listening I'm going to do, Lieutenant!"

The two of them stormed into the office like a pair of hurricanes, prompting four suddenly industrious men to become almost completely focussed on their work. Havoc and Breda exchanged a 'here we go again' glance, the sandy-haired man muttering, "Gee, I heard fighting, so I knew Mom and Dad were home."

A shadow loomed over his desk from behind. "_What_ did you say?" Roy growled, glaring down at the younger man. Havoc (wisely) kept his mouth shut.

Hawkeye wasn't giving up so easily; she held the file in her hand out toward her superior officer with a determined expression. "Sir, you have to go to that military council meeting whether you like it or not, and if this is the one file you don't read before you go, it's going to be the one that comes back to bite you in the ass."

"All I've done for the past six hours is read file after file!" His sarcastic Second Lieutenant temporarily forgotten, Roy turned back to the woman determined to make him finish his work. "My head is so full of files that there's hardly room for anything else, except maybe a few ideas where you can shove that report!"

"Fine." Her face set in carefully controlled fury, she took a step closer, determined to stare him down. "You go to the council meeting, then, and when you don't have any idea what the _hell_ they're talking about, come tell me so that I can say 'I told you so.'"

Opening his mouth to retort, Roy paused as he caught sight of the four other men staring at him and the Lieutenant. Havoc's mouth was hanging open at Hawkeye's language, the cigarette in his mouth in danger of dropping to the floor. Breda looked shell-shocked, and seemed afraid to move lest he garner the wrath of his superiors. Falman had a perplexed look on his face; he was also sitting unnaturally still. Behind his glasses, Fuery's eyes were huge as he stared at Hawkeye.

Clearing his throat, the dark-haired alchemist lowered his voice to its normal level. "Maybe we should take this somewhere else."

She'd clearly noticed the same thing that he had; it didn't seem to affect her anger. "Of course, sir," she said, tone acidic. "The kids shouldn't have to see Mommy and Daddy fight." Hands in fists at her sides, and her back perfectly straight, she stalked past him and out the door, like a cat leaving a hissing match. He followed, closing the door behind himself.

They both stood in the hallway for a count of three, then Roy pressed his ear against the door. After a moment, he grinned and muttered. "I don't think I've ever heard four pens move faster. They've got to be working like machines now."

Riza allowed herself a small, victorious smile. "Of course they are, sir. I told you that all they needed was a little incentive. Fear is an excellent motivator."

"I still think that you holding them at gunpoint would have worked too."

"That's how I get you to do _your_ work, sir." She took the opportunity to shove the file into his hands. "Make sure you read it all."


	4. Grave

_A/N: Drunk!Roy is apparently still a very lucid Roy. Maybe not the brightest spark, but he can at least hold his liquor. I do not own FMA._

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**Four - Grave**

Most men wouldn't be in a graveyard after midnight, whether due to simple common sense or a leftover childhood belief in ghosts. At the moment, Roy Mustang possessed neither. He simply lay flat on his back in the grass, arms folded behind his head, talking aloud like he was in his right mind.

"So then," he said, laughing, "she says 'That's how I get you to do your work" and just shoves the file into my hands and walks off. I tell you, Hughes, she's some kind of woman . . . ." He paused, then sighed. "She was right though. Half the stuff talked about at that meeting was contained in the file. She saved my ass again."

Staring up at the stars overhead, his eyes traced the patterns of familiar constellations. ". . . Really saved my ass . . . ."

"I'm glad you feel that way."

Scrambling into a sitting position, Roy whirled around to face the woman sitting ten metres away at the base of a tall angel statue. She sat straight, hands folded neatly in her lap, wearing her favourite white jacket. "Riza?" He frowned. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough," she answered. Slipping down from the base of the statue, she crossed the grass toward him, casting a sidelong glance at Hughes' gravestone. "You're pretty talkative tonight."

Settling back into a comfortable sitting position, Roy looked away across the darkened cemetery. "Yeah, well, the three bars I went to before coming here probably had something to do with that." He watched her mouth become a thin line as her lips pressed together. "Don't give me that look; I didn't drive, and when I'm done here, I'm going right home and passing out on my couch."

Shaking her head, Riza knelt, hands dropping to her lap once again. "Roy, I learned a long time ago not to scold you about alcohol. What has me worried is that you're out here alone in a . . . very vulnerable state."

"Awwww, you're worried again?" Turning, he laid back, his head landing just forward of her fingertips. "Sorry. I'm not supposed to do that, am I? Worry you, I mean."

"It would be easier on me if you didn't," she said dryly, looking down at him. "My car is at the south entrance. Would you like a ride home?"

"I would, but not just yet." His eyes went past her face and up to the sky again. "You know, this is the one place in Central where you can actually see stars? Everywhere else, there's too many lights."

Riza looked up as well. "I remember reading something once when I was a little girl . . . that stars are the souls of people who have died. It seems appropriate that a place like this has such a good view of them."

"Yeah . . . ." Roy's head lolled to the left, looking across at Hughes' gravestone. ". . . Did you know the word 'grave' has two different meanings? The obvious one, is derived from an old Aerugonian word, but relates to the Drachman word 'graf.' Still means the same thing.

"The other meaning, 'serious' or 'dangerous,' comes from the Xerxian word 'gravis.' Somewhere along the line, someone in Amestris thought it was a pretty good idea. Probably changed it so he wouldn't get called a copycat." He paused, and his eyes came back to her. ". . . I'm rambling, aren't I."

Looking down at him, Riza smiled slightly. "Just a little." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Have you had a good conversation with the general?"

"Yeah." Sitting up, Roy waited until she stood and offered him a hand up before getting to his feet. Setting himself directly in front of the headstone, he stood tall, right hand lifting in salute. Then, one arm slung across the shoulders of his lieutenant, he let her guide him toward the exit.

Out of all his subordinates, she was the only one who would be comfortable sitting with him in a cemetery in the middle of the night. She was the only one who was comfortable doing a lot of things. Roy smirked to himself; like he'd said, she was certainly some kind of woman.

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	5. Heiki

_A/N: Because you just know that the second Roy finds out someone hurt Riza, he's going to be looking for something to burn. I do not own FMA._**  
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**Five - Heiki (weapon) & Heiki (fine)**

Her eyes opened at the same time that a voice hushed the others with a quiet "She's awake!"

Four heads clustered together in her (slightly blurry) field of vision. Riza blinked twice, trying to bring her sight back to normal. ". . . What are you all doing here?"

Fuery seemed to sag in relief. "We heard that you got hurt and had been brought to the hospital. We came to make sure you're okay."

Hurt . . . oh. Riza's hand lifted, fingers exploring the bandaging wrapped around her forehead. Her left temple was tender to the touch, and the source of the slight headache now beginning to make itself felt. Still, she supposed that a pipe to the head would do that . . . .

"What exactly happened?" Falman asked, head tilting curiously to one side.

She began to work at sitting up; Havoc held out a hand to help her. "I was following someone as a favour to Major Armstrong; his men were all busy at the time, and he needed someone to fill in. The man I was tailing turned down a side street, and by the time I caught up, he was waiting for me."

Breda grimaced. "You're lucky he didn't hit any harder. All you have is a concussion, but it could have been a lot worse."

"Speaking of worse . . . ." She glanced between the four of them. "Does the Colonel know about this?"

"He was out of the office when Major Armstrong told us what had happened to you," Havoc said. "As for right now . . . we told him we were going for coffee."

"Twenty minutes ago," Fuery murmured. "We should probably head back."

Falman turned to look at her. "Should I have the Colonel fill out the accident report?"

"No," she said firmly. "I'll do that myself. If he asks where I am, you can tell him that I'm still following the person Major Armstrong asked me to."

"Chief doesn't need any more headaches than he's already got," Havoc clarified; he was the most in tune to what went on between his two superior officers, and had already guessed that Hawkeye would want to keep this little incident quiet. "If we tell him what's happened, he's going to flip his lid."

"Don't worry, Lieutenant; your secret is safe with us," Fuery said cheerfully. "Do you want me to go check on Black Hayate after work today?"

Riza gave him a small smile. "I'd appreciate that; thank you. Now all of you – go back to work."

* * *

If rest was the only way to get rid of the pounding in her head, then rest is what Riza Hawkeye would do. Every two hours, a nurse came to check on her, and by the third time, brought the news that if their observations during the night went well, that she would be discharged the next morning.

For the first several hours, she was alone in the two-bed room, but kept the dividing curtain drawn. At about five in the afternoon, she heard two orderlies enter, as well as someone with a very heavy, metallic step. It sounded familiar, almost, but she couldn't place it.

"All right, kid, we're going to shift you to the bed, nice and easy . . . ." There was rustling as the patient was made comfortable, and the orderly spoke again. "Just rest up here for a while. Someone will be in to check on you soon."

"Thank you for your help," a young boy's voice said . . . as though from inside a metal tube. Riza's eyes widened. Oh no . . . not now, not here of all places.

"It's not that serious," she heard Edward grumble, half to himself. "There wasn't a reason to drag me in here."

"The doctor must have thought so, if he wants to keep you overnight," Alphonse pointed out. "And besides, it's better to be safe than sorry."

"I'd listen to your brother, if I were you."

Riza felt her pulse speed up even as her head turned sharply toward the curtain and the man no doubt standing on the other side of it. After all she'd done to keep him from finding out she was here, he was unwittingly standing in the same room, with nothing but a thick piece of fabric keeping him from discovering her.

"What are you doing here? Edward shot back. "Don't you have papers to push or something?"

"Lieutenant Hawkeye is out of the office today, so I can escape for a while if I want to," Roy answered, unfazed by the younger alchemist's snappishness. "I heard you got yourself injured, so I came to check on you." His voice turned serious. "Besides. There are a couple things I need to talk to you about."

"Yeah? Things like what?"

There was a pause, and almost in slow motion, Riza saw the fingers of one gloved hand grasp the edge of the dividing curtain, beginning to pull it back. Of course — he didn't want to discuss anything sensitive if there were unfriendly ears in the same room.

"You know, things like — WHAT THE HELL?"

Resigned to the fact that she'd been caught, Riza offered a sitting-down salute. "Hello, sir."

He was staring, eyes wide and expression clearly confused. The other end of the curtain was pulled back, letting Alphonse and Edward see who Roy was gaping at.

The blond teenager in the other bed lifted one eyebrow. "Lieutenant Hawkeye? What are you in for?"

* * *

While the doctor had advised rest, there was nothing stopping her from moving around the hospital if she felt well enough. Wrapped in a plain white bathrobe, she sat across from Roy at a table in the cafeteria, watching him read the accident report Falman had delivered three hours earlier for her to fill out.

At last, he tossed the paper onto the tabletop between them. "You're lucky, Lieutenant."

"So I'm told, sir." She picked up the report, folding it carefully in half. "I was careless. The man I was tailing could have killed me outright."

"Not what I meant," Roy growled, shooting her a glare. "You're lucky that I'm not half as mad as I should be. If you get hurt, you're not supposed to hide it from me! You're supposed to _tell_ me so that I can _help_."

"With all due respect, sir," Riza answered dryly, looking him in the eye, "if you were injured, you wouldn't want me to know right away. You'd wait until it was certain you'd recover, then mention it. Which is exactly what I was planning to do until you showed up."

His expression softened a little. "All right. I see your point." Reaching out, he carefully pulled aside the bandage to look underneath. "He knocked you right out, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

Roy drew his hand away, smiling regretfully. "Every weapon gets damaged sooner or later, whether it's used offensively or defensively . . . but if the doctor says you'll be fine, then you'll be fine."

Returning the smile, Riza patted the back of his hand. "Exactly. And once the hospital discharges me, I was hoping you would be able to help me in tracking the man who put me here . . . ."

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	6. Death

_A/N: Here, guys, have some angst that turns into adorable. Just add water. Also, a shout out to all my reviewers: D-chi, flightless and stranded, WithoutWingsX, kasumin, Literacy is the best policy, to overcome reality, and all the guests who commented. You're all wonderful, beautiful people. _

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**Six - Death**

The night train from Central to East City was sparsely populated and almost completely silent. The only sound came from the wheels on the tracks and the soft snores from a man halfway back the car. Brought half-awake by the noise, Riza sighed quietly, shifting position on the hard train bench. She was leaning against the wall, her long coat draped over her as a blanket. She opened one eye to check on the Colonel, across from her.

Abruptly, she sat up, her coat falling into her lap. Roy was gone.

Standing, she scanned the few other occupants of the car; no familiar, messy black hair in sight. The train wasn't that long, she reasoned, and she doubted he'd be jumping off at the speed they were travelling. He was here somewhere.

The fact that he'd gone off on his own, now of all times, worried her. They'd only left Central earlier that evening, visiting the city for Lieutenant-Colonel . . . no, Brigadier-General Hughes' funeral. Roy wasn't exactly known for expressing his feelings, but she didn't want him to be alone.

Dropping her coat onto the bench, she made her way to the front of the car, and peered carefully through the window into the closed-in section that joined it to the next car forward. It was lit by a single dim lightbulb, but she could tell it was empty. He wouldn't go far, she knew; if he wasn't here, then he'd gone back along the train. She turned and headed that direction.

As she had before, upon reaching the back, she looked through the window. A figure stood in shadow at the outside window, arms folded as it watched the nighttime countryside roll past. Riza knew that posture well; she'd watched it from the back for years now.

Stepping through, she made sure to close the door behind her, before folding her hands in front. The noise of wheels on tracks was louder here, accompanied by the sound of rushing wind. "You should be trying to sleep, sir. We have a lot to do when we get back to East City."

"I know." His voice was quiet and toneless. Silence prevailed between them for a moment, before he spoke again. "I thought you were asleep. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, sir," Riza answered evenly. "It's not a good thing if a babysitter loses track of her charge, now is it?"

Roy turned just enough to look back at her over his shoulder. "Riza, please just —"

"You don't have to go it alone," she said quietly, taking a step closer and setting her face into a determined look. "Sir, I know how you must be feeling right now, but you have to let it out sooner or later. You've been there for me before . . . let me be here for you."

He faced the window again, and she moved up beside him. "If I didn't know better, Riza, I'd say you're letting your heart show."

"Everyone has to sometime."

Seeming to hesitate for a moment, Roy reached back and tugged the pullcord for the overhead light. That extinguished, the only illumination came from the window; just enough to cast them both into silhouette. A head rested itself on Riza's shoulder, a quiet voice muttering, "I can't believe he's gone."

Reaching forward, she took his hand. "It'll be all right."

"He said he would support me from below . . . push me toward the top . . . . He's been with me from the very start, through all of it." Roy paused. "I'm not sure where to go from here."

Letting go of his hand, Riza reached up and touched his cheek, then lifted his face away from her shoulder. "You go forward," she said firmly. "You can't change what's happened, no matter what the alchemist in you says. He would have wanted you to keep going, and if you achieve your goal now, it'll honour his memory."

She lowered her voice, out of reflex, even though no one else was about to hear her. "Hughes wasn't your only supporter, Roy. Think of everyone else around you — Lieutenant-General Grumman, Edward and Alphonse, Major Armstrong, the rest of your men in East City . . . and me." Riza made sure to look him in the eye. "Just because one of us falls, it doesn't mean your goal is unachievable. We will _all_ shoulder the responsibility that Hughes left, and we'll keep helping you until the day finally comes that you hold the title of Führer."

Roy stared at her, dark eyes blinking in surprise at her words. Finally, her little speech apparently finished, he nodded. "I understand." Ducking away from her hand on his face, he closed the gap between them and wrapped her in a hug. "Thank you . . . I guess I needed to hear that."

"I'm glad I could help," she answered, returning the gesture. "I'm just sorry that it took someone's death for it to be said."

". . . . Is it possible to have rain on the inside of a train?"

"It is right now."

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_The adorableness . . . . It's too much! Quick, the only way to stop it from suffocating us all is to click the review button!_


	7. Crime and Punishment

_A/N: The very first piece of Royza(1) I wrote. Ever. Almost a year ago, exactly, and I just passed 100,000 words on my challenges this week. Everybody celebrate, just don't let Roy near the fireworks. : D_

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**Seven - Crime and Punishment**

Three heads lifted as a squad of six MPs marched into the outer office. Fuery shrank back in his chair as Havoc and Breda tensed; Falman looked on, ever watchful. The squad's leader looked around, one fist resting businesslike on a hip.

"Where is First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye?"

Havoc stood casually, drawing the newcomers' collective gaze. "Mind if I ask what it's regarding?"

The squad leader looked away indifferently. "It's none of your concern, Second Lieutenant. Kindly tell me where Lieutenant Hawkeye is."

The office's four regular inhabitants exchanged glances, before Breda rose from behind his desk. "Follow me; she's with the Colonel at the moment." He moved to the closed door separating their space from the Colonel's, knocked twice, then opened it and stepped through.

"Colonel; Lieutenant. Military police to see you."

The two behind the desk, both studying a thick report, looked up as their visitors marched into the room. Lieutenant Hawkeye straightened and took two steps backward, to her customary position behind the Colonel's chair. The man himself folded his hands on the desktop, watching as the MPs stopped just two metres away.

". . . Gentlemen. What can I do for you?"

The squad leader produced a tri-folded piece of paper, and stepped forward to deliver it. "I regret to inform you that this is warrant for your arrest —" He stepped past the desk and pointed the warrant to Hawkeye. "— Lieutenant, on the charges of attempted theft, assault with a deadly weapon, and first-degree murder." In the shocked silence that followed, he gestured one of his subordinates forward. The man circled behind Hawkeye and began securing her wrists into handcuffs.

The instant he found his voice, Roy was on his feet, hands slamming onto his desk. "Are you out of your mind? What proof do you have that it was the Lieutenant?"

The squad leader stood his ground. "That's not my department, Colonel; you'll have to speak to the prosecuting attorney on the subject. I can tell you, however, that the Lieutenant is being arrested as responsible for the robbery and murder that took place at a jewellery store earlier this week. All the evidence points to her. You needn't worry, Colonel, this won't reflect on your command in any —"

"The hell with my command!" Roy snapped. "There's no possible way for her to have held up a jewellery store; she's here every day, just like the rest of us. We can all provide eyewitness testimony that she was here whenever the robbery took place."

"Robbery _and_ homicide, Colonel," the squad leader said coolly. "However; as you wish. The incident took place from exactly 13:45 to 13:53 on Tuesday afternoon. Where was the Lieutenant during those eight minutes?"

Roy was quiet, forcing his racing mind to calm down and think back. Lunch at ended at 13:00, and Riza had stepped in to tell him she was . . . . He froze, staring at a paperweight on his desk.

She'd said she was going out to run an errand at roughly 13:30, and he hadn't seen her again until about 14:10. Forty minutes that he was unable to account for her whereabouts. His eyes flicked back to the squad leader, who was trying - and failing - not to smile smugly.

"Can't remember, Colonel?" he asked, not quite able to keep the gloating tone out of his voice. He turned to face the rest of Mustang's personal staff, gathered just inside the door. "What about the four of you? Anything to add?"

They remained silent, but their expressions said it all; they knew no more than the Colonel.

The squad leader turned to his prisoner. "How unfortunate. Unless the Lieutenant herself chooses to volunteer the information? Not that anyone here can corroborate your story." She cast him an unreadable glance, then resumed staring straight ahead. "Ah — exercising the right to remain silent. Very well then; Sergeant, you may escort the Lieutenant to the brig."

As the squad left the office, the leader spoke once more to Roy. "I suppose I'll see you at the court-martial, Colonel. Don't worry, we'll take excellent care of the Lieutenant until then. Have a good day." Pivoting on his heel, with perfect military precision, he marched out.

The door closed behind him, its muffled thud seeming to sound with booming finality.

~x~

They sat on opposite sides of the bars, not saying anything. The stool the brig guard had provided for Roy was far from comfortable, but he resisted the urge to fidget. Riza sat forward on the edge of her cell's cot, her hands folded together in her lap, her back straight.

"You haven't been sleeping," she finally said, voice echoing slightly off the bare cinderblock walls. She kept her eyes focused firmly on her thumbs, as if they were things to be examined in detail.

Roy shook his head. "How am I supposed to, worrying about you in here? You're not supposed to relax and sit back when someone you know is in prison."

Finally, those brown eyes shifted toward him. "It doesn't mean you should stop sleeping, sir. If you really want to help me, then you need to be rested. They'll want testimony from you in court; you don't want to fall asleep on the stand."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He laced his fingers together. "You're one to talk; you don't look like you've been sleeping either." Even sitting in profile to him, it wasn't enough to hide the dark circles, or the tired look in her eyes. It was completely different from her usual crisp appearance . . . . The last time he'd seen her like this had been in Ishval.

"Prison mattresses aren't the most comfortable things in the world," was her reply. Getting to her feet, she paced away from him, moving toward the tiny window on the other side of the cell. "How are things in the office? Is everything going all right?"

That was that; to her, the personal discussion was over, and he had no choice but to go along with it . . . for now. "Fuery's taken on quite a bit of the extra work; he's going through it like a machine. The others are all keeping busy. We'll manage until you get back."

He allowed the following silence to last for a brief few seconds. "Hawkeye, I know there's no way you were off holding up some jewellery store, but you haven't told anyone where you were." Her back offered him no answers, but he pressed on. "If you don't provide some sort of alibi, you'll be convicted."

"You don't think I know that, sir?" she said calmly, turning to face him again. "I'm not concerned about it; as long as I know that I'm innocent . . . and that you know that too."

"Then why be punished for a crime you didn't commit?" He stood, hands at his sides. "Just give your alibi; then everything can be over."

She shook her head slowly. "It's not so easy as that, sir. If I want to walk out of here, I have to let this run its course. Just trust me when I say it will all work out."

This was becoming infuriating. She'd never withheld anything from him before, in terms of business. Yet here she was, telling him to ignore the fact that she was behind bars, that there was nothing he could do, but that he shouldn't worry? It was so . . . not Riza. Roy hated being left out of whatever loop she was in.

"And if it doesn't?" he finally asked. "How are you going to watch my back from a prison cell? Am I supposed to follow you?"

Her eyes were hard and determined as she looked at him. "I hope it doesn't come to that, sir."

Down the hall, the door opened. "Time's up," a guard barked, his tone brooking no argument.

Reluctantly, Roy turned away from the bars. He had no choice. "I hope you know what you're doing." His footsteps echoed in the cold silence as he left without a goodbye.

* * *

_(1) I've said it before, but I don't use the convention pairing name of 'Royai.' I understand how it came into being, but knowing what the word 'ai' means in Japanese means my brain translates it to 'Roy-love' and that doesn't fit a pairing. So I just say Royza. _


	8. StoreLined Streets

_A/N: And so we witness the beginnings of Emo!Roy from 'Conqueror of Shamballa.' Warning right now, kiddies, this may spoil the ending of the 2003 anime for you. Turn back now: this is your last chance, if you wish to preserve the ending!_**  
**

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Eight - Store-lined Streets**

Six weeks since his battle against the late Führer Bradley. Three weeks since Riza had allowed him to get out of bed for an extended length of time. Two and a half weeks since he'd ventured outside.

Now, walking with her through a plaza on market day, he was itching to be somewhere else – anywhere else – so long as he was back to being at least halfway productive. He wanted to toss aside the cane in his hand and walk like a normal human being, but the still-healing fracture in his ankle prevented it.

Riza, on the other hand, seemed perfectly happy away from their offices. He'd seen her smile more often in the past six weeks than he had in the past six years. Hell, she wore a skirt every single day now; he'd come to recognize the swishy sound as she walked. She didn't look half-bad, either . . . .

She must have felt him watching her as she bent to study the merchandise at one particular stall; she looked back over her shoulder at him. She smiled in a "You're staring" way, and he returned with an "I know" smirk.

The movement pushed his cheek against the stiff patch covering what remained of his left eye socket. The organ itself was gone, a write-off, and the skin and remaining bone surrounding were still healing. Bullet wounds took their own sweet time; he was just lucky that it had glanced off the bone and not drilled straight through his skull. He didn't want to think about what would've happened if it had.

Riza straightened and turned to face him, her smile gone. "You've got that look on you face again," she commented, stepping to one side, out of the stream of pedestrian traffic. Roy followed her.

"What look?"

"The look that says you're playing 'what ifs' in your head," she answered. In the past six weeks, she'd slowly dropped her all-business attitude as she settled into civilian life for the first time in years. "You do know that it's not going to get you anywhere, don't you? We've been over this."

He shook his head, then started off along the narrow aisle between merchants. "It's not like I do it on purpose; it just happens. Besides, thinking about stuff like that, it makes me feel lucky to be alive. And if I'm grateful for that, then it's not such a bad thing."

"I suppose . . . ." She fell into step beside him, and still just behind by half a pace. Old habits died hard, and Riza still hadn't completely broken away from their usual pattern of him in front, and her following.

Roy wondered how returning to the military lifestyle would effect her. Certainly, she was happy enough playing at being a civilian . . . would she go back, given the chance? What was he thinking; of course she would. Riza might enjoy being an ordinary woman once in a while, but the military was too deeply ingrained into her now for her to just summarily toss it aside. Which meant if — no, when — he returned to active duty, she would want to be right behind him.

That was one of the parts that hurt, like the ache in his ankle, like the dull throbbing behind the eyepatch, like the guilt and emotional trauma curled into a hard knot of pain deep inside his chest. Wherever he went, Riza was guaranteed to be there, whether following watchfully behind, or out in front with guns blazing. Roy had a sinking feeling that because she was always following him, he was holding her back. If they wanted to move forward from this, a degree of separation would need to be achieved, just for a little while.

"Are we going anywhere in particular?" she asked, the sudden question cutting across his train of thought. Bringing himself back to reality, he heard the sounds of the market fading behind them as they walked. Riza was watching him, waiting for an answer.

"Oh . . . . No, not really." He smiled, but in the wake of his thoughts, the gesture felt forced and stiff. "Sorry, I guess I was daydreaming."

Brown eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the uneasy smile. "Really . . . . What about?"

If she wasn't so damn perceptive . . . . Roy sighed, continuing to walk slowly along past storefront after storefront in the city's shopping district. "I've been thinking that it's about time I went back to work. I've adjusted to having one eye, my ankle's almost healed up, all the cuts and bruises were gone a week ago . . . . It's time to move on."

Riza folded her hands behind her back as she walked, looking off down the sidewalk in front of them. "As long as you think you're ready. You'll also have to contend with a physical evaluation board to make sure you're fit for duty, and speak to the Investigations Office about the coup attempt –"

"I already did." That stopped her in her tracks, but Roy kept going. After two seconds, Riza caught up to him again. "Last week, when you were out, one of Hughes' old subordinates turned up. He asked me about what happened, and I told him. He said that the committee on the case had decided the actions were justified, since they removed a highly dangerous and criminal individual from power."

"Hmm. That's exactly what Havoc told me," Riza mused. Roy could tell from the underlying tone in her voice that she was irritated at not knowing about his visitor. "We were lucky."

"Very."

There was a brief silence, before Riza broke it. "Speaking of Havoc, he and the others will be glad to hear you're coming back. From what I've been told, they're struggling to keep up with the work."

"Then it's a good thing you're the one that keeps them motivated. I'm returning to duty, but not at the office in Central."

This time, he was the one to stop, turning to face her. The usual perfect mask of composure and calm was a conflicting, shifting mix of confusion, surprise, and disbelief. ". . . I'm . . . not sure I follow," she said at last.

"I've petitioned to be re-assigned somewhere else," he said quietly, stepping to one side to let another couple pass. "The paperwork went through yesterday; I have my orders."

Riza nodded, absorbing the information. "I see . . . . And where is it we're going?"

"I can't tell you where _I'm_ going, but_ you're_ going back to the office in Central with Havoc and the others." For the first time in years, he saw Riza's jaw drop in surprise. If the moment weren't so serious, he might have laughed.

". . . I'm not going with you?" she asked, her voice quiet and eyes wide in shock. "But —"

"No buts, Riza," he said firmly. "It's my decision, and I've made it."

The firmness melted a little, at least from his expression, as she looked down. He realized what he was asking of her - to set aside her promise to protect him, and let him walk away for who knew how long. It was a lot to ask from someone who'd been so close to him for so long . . . but it had to be done.

He might have healed physically, but emotionally, he wasn't sure. To return to the way things had been didn't feel right. He didn't feel ready for that, but he knew he had to get back to work. It would be better if he could do that someplace away from crowds of people, where he could hear himself think for once.

Riza spoke, jolting him out of thought for the second time. "If that's your decision . . . then I have to accept it. I don't like it — I don't like it at all — but . . . that's the order." She lifted her head, and suddenly, she was the same Riza that ran a tight office and kept things perfectly in order. All she was missing was the uniform. "Good luck . . . sir."

"Hey, hey, you're not back on duty yet," he admonished. "If you're going to wish me luck, do it properly."

She hesitated, then stepped close, hugging him carefully. He'd cracked two or three ribs in the fight against Bradley, and even though they'd healed, strong pressure still made them ache. Roy wrapped his free arm around her shoulder, resting his chin on top of her head.

Riza's voice was muffled by his shirt. "Good luck, Roy. Don't stay away too long."

* * *

_*offers Kleenex box* Tissue? Anyone? Get two free with every review._


	9. Unknown Past

_A/N: This is meant to take place about a week after Riza joins Roy's office in East City. Keep that in mind while you read, and it'll make sense._

_Also, this week, I pick up the FMA State Military coffee mug I ordered two months ago. I am so excited, I may hug the store owner before taking the mug to the nearest Tim Hortons to have it filled. _

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Nine - Unknown Past**

"You're selling the house?"

Brown eyes scanning the columns of the newspaper in front of her, Riza nodded absently. "The deed was transferred to me and stayed in my name while I was Ishval." She paused, picking up a pen and circling a tiny advertisement in red ink. "I have no need for the house myself; it's too far out of the way for a practical commute to work, and besides . . . ." She gave him a sidelong glance. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you how many memories are there."

Leaning against the front of his desk, Roy folded his arms. "No, you don't. But I would think those memories are why you'd want to hang on to the place." He watched as she circled another ad. "Where are you living now?"

"There's a sweet old woman on Fifth Street who rents out a room to people new in the city until they can find something better. It's a nice place, but . . . ." She gave a rare, small smile. "I just want someplace that's . . . my own." She looked over to him, the smile slipping away. "That's not so wrong; Father would understand."

He picked up the smile where she'd left off. "I'm sure he would." Crossing the space between their desks, he took a seat in the chair next to hers. "Want some help to look? I know the city better than you, after all."

* * *

Seven of her first nine prospects for potential apartments had been complete strikeouts. Seated in a quiet corner of the base cafeteria, all but ignoring the cup of tea by her elbow, Riza pored over the notes she'd taken while viewing the last two. Peace and quiet was a preference, and both apartments were in the same residential neighbourhood close to Headquarters. Access to grocers came next, parking not really a concern . . . . Hmm. So it came down to a choice.

"Hey! Hawkeye!"

She looked up to find Roy coming toward her, accompanied by older man. Getting to her feet, she snapped to attention. "Hello, sir. What brings you here?"

The dark-haired alchemist nodded toward the bespectacled man beside him. "I thought I'd bring this gentleman to meet you, about your apartment hunt. He's been around the block a few times; he knows what to look for."

The gentleman in question, waved away her salute. "At ease, young lady, at ease. Allow me to introduce myself." He held out a hand with a beaming smile. "I'm Lieutenant-General Grumman."

Offering a polite smile, Riza accepted the proffered hand. "Pleased to meet you, sir. Would the two of you care to join me?"

Taking their seats around the table, Grumman studied the notes, adjusting his glasses. "Hmm. These are fairly detailed . . . very promising accommodations, too. You certainly know what you're looking for." He looked up. "So what's holding you back from making a decision?"

"As you said, sir, they're both very promising," she began. "Both have an equal share of pros and cons, both conform to key preferences that I have, and they're both close by. I just haven't decided which one I like more."

"I see . . . ." Rubbing at his moustache in thought, Grumman looked over the notes again. "Did you meet with any of the tenants near the apartments you looked at?"

Riza blinked, puzzled. ". . . No, sir."

"I suggest you do." He set the papers back on the table with a knowing smile. "You may find friends, even networking contacts living right next door to you . . . or you may find people who are utterly unbearable and make your time in the building one you'd rather forget."

Nodding in confirmation, Riza gathered her notes together. "Thank you, sir. I'll take your advice into consideration."

"The pleasure's mine, my dear." Beaming once again, Grumman indicated the row of drink dispensers beside the cafeteria kitchen window. "Now, perhaps you wouldn't mind getting an old man a fresh cup of coffee to keep him going through the work day?"

She couldn't help but smile in return. "Of course, sir."

Roy watched her walking away, smirking to himself. "You played that rather well, sir. And you got her to smile at that. Even I can barely manage that on my best day."

"It'll come in time," Grumman mused, before turning to the younger man with suspiciously narrowed eyes and a stage whisper. "Wipe that smug little smile off your face, Roy. You knew, didn't you!"

"I remembered her telling me that neither of her parents spoke of relatives," Roy said, shrugging innocently. "I got curious, and did a little digging . . . I was quite surprised to find your name in her mother's family tree."

Grumman's eyes turned back to the young woman in question. ". . . I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't tell her about this. I'm not sure how she'll react to find out she's working directly under her grandfather. She's lived her whole life without the knowledge and it hasn't hurt her. I'm worried she might find it . . . strange."

"I have no intention of telling her, sir, believe me," Roy said seriously. "It's the sort of thing you should tell her yourself. Riza's not fragile, sir; learning who you are won't break her." He paused. "And after Ishval, she deserves to know she's still got some family left in the world."

"I suppose," Grumman conceded. "It's better to give it a little more time, though. Let her get a little more comfortable here, really feel that she has a place she belongs. Then break the news carefully. It's not an easy thing, learning about unknown pasts and relatives."

* * *

_Awwwwww, silly Grumman. If you could make her smile, telling her you're her grandpa would probably get you a hug. Unless you're dressed like a woman again._


	10. Promise

_A/N: This is possible the most awkward scenario I have ever written. Yet Roy can only be glad that it wasn't one of the men who opened the door._

* * *

**Ten - Promise**

"OW! DAMMIT!"

Five heads came up in the outer office as the shout echoed off the walls. Fuery leaned farther away in his chair as Havoc and Breda exchanged a glance. Falman simply stared at the door to the Colonel's office. Riza looked around at the others, then got to her feet; apparently, she was the only one brave enough to investigate the matter.

Opening the door, she stepped through. "Colonel, are you — HOLY SHIT!"

Withdrawing rapidly, she slammed the door, turned, and leaned against it. The men stared at her, just as wide-eyed as she was; none of them had ever heard the Lieutenant swear like that.

"What is it?" Havoc asked, half-standing. "Is he okay?"

"HAWKEYE!" An annoyed shout cut across Riza's potential answer. "IN MY OFFICE. NOW!"

Closing her eyes, Riza breathed deep, then turned and re-entered the office. Door closed once again, she stood to attention and saluted. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Red-faced with embarrassment, Roy turned toward her. "Yes, I did," he scowled. "I . . . why do you have your eyes closed?"

"In the interest of your modesty, sir," Riza said crisply. "What is it you wanted to see me for?"

"Open your eyes first; I can't talk to you when your face is all scrunched up like that." Waiting until she complied, he moved closer, lowering his voice. "I'm sorry about what happened just now . . . I didn't expect anyone to come running."

"And I'm sorry to have caught you with your pants down, sir," Riza answered calmly. ". . . Literally. I assume you injured something at some point?"

"Earlier today, when I was facing off with Scar and you kicked my feet out from under me," Roy muttered, scowling again. "I hit the street at a bad angle; landed almost directly on my tailbone." His hand went to his lower back, like just thinking about the injury made it worse.

"I see . . . ." Looking past him to his desk, Riza spotted the cold compress sitting on the edge of the Colonel's desk. "And just now, you were trying to ice the injury?"

"It's a little more . . . sensitive that I would have thought," he admitted, arms folded as he looked away. "Difficult to reach, too."

Riza lifted one eyebrow. "Have you considered going to the infirmary, sir? I'm sure the others and myself could handle things here until you got back."

His gaze came back to her with a look of minor horror. "Are you kidding? I can't go there for something like this; they'd laugh me out in no time. The humiliation alone would be enough to —" He stopped, a new thought clearly making itself known.

". . . Sir?" Riza prompted when he didn't continue.

"No, the infirmary isn't necessary," Roy said slowly, a sly smile creeping onto his face. "After all, I already have a cold compress; it's just a matter of being able to reach the right spot."

"I'm glad the issue is resolved, sir." She turned toward the door; that look of his could mean nothing but trouble. "If you'll excuse me, I should be getting back to work."

"Oh, no you don't, Lieutenant." Crossing to his desk, Roy picked up the compress. "It's thanks to you that I have this little injury; it's only fitting that you should be the one to help me get past it." He held the chilled packet out to her. "Unless you think it's beneath you?"

"You'll pardon me for saying so, sir, but doesn't this fall under the description of fraternization?" Riza asked, eyeing the compress warily.

"Of course not; you're merely aiding an injured superior." He tossed the compress toward her; she caught it reflexively. "Come on, it won't be so bad."

"Sir, I really don't think that –"

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, don't make me order you to hold a cold compress on my ass."

She stared at him for a brief second before squaring her shoulders and marching across the distance between door and desk. "You can leave your pants on, sir. If you apply something this cold directly to an injury, it's actually liable to make it worse." With his hands braced against the desk edge, and him leaning against it, she placed the cold compress over the approximate spot. "There?"

He nodded, gritting his teeth just slightly. "Yeah. Just don't put too much pressure."

The silence that followed was understandably awkward. Roy kept his gaze on his desktop; Riza stared firmly out the window and tried to ignore just where her hand was. With the cold pack against it, it was rapidly going numb; that was probably for the better.

"Aside from this, it's probably a good thing you knocked me down," Roy said at last, still not looking in her direction. "Scar would have gotten me good."

"I was just doing my job, sir," Riza acknowledged. "Like I said I would."

At last, Roy turned his head to look back at her with a smile. "Bet you didn't think this is what you were signing on for when you made that promise."

Riza returned the smile, albeit on a smaller scale. "I said I'd follow you to Hell, sir. This is just a little slip in that direction. As long as it doesn't happen again."

". . . . I don't know if I can promise that, Riza."

* * *

_You tried not to picture it, but you did, didn't you. It's okay; it still makes me giggle. :3_


	11. Liar

****_A/N: I just passed the 200 page mark in terms of how many oneshots I've written. I've started doubling up on some of them; the ideas just keep coming! Back to school this week: best of luck to all my fellow students!_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Eleven - Liar**

The door burst open to the tiny room, two men stepping inside. Roy's eyes searched briefly before settling on the form in the corner. "Hawkeye!"

She was sitting against the far wall, both hands over her mouth, eyes squeezed shut. Her left leg bounced in energetic agitation. Havoc eyed her warily. ". . . She okay, Chief?"

"I don't know . . . ." Crouching beside his Lieutenant, Roy put a cautious hand on her shoulder. "Hawkeye? Come on, look at me." After a second of hesitation, she obeyed, and he smiled. "There. Are you all right?"

She shook her head vehemently 'no.'

A curl of anger unwrapped itself in Roy's chest; first, some lowlifes had actually succeeded in kidnapping her, and now they had hurt her somehow and left her behind to be found. "What did they do?" he asked, voice quiet. He watched as Riza dropped her hands away from her mouth; she was biting her lower lip, hard enough to turn the skin white. She worked her way out of her jacket, then held her left arm out to him, pointing to a tiny bruise on the inside of her elbow, directly over the vein.

". . . . An injection?" She nodded. "Of what? Poison?"

Another shake of her head, and Riza pointed to her mouth. Roy frowned in bewilderment. What was she trying to tell him? Rolling her eyes once in exasperation, Riza reached down beside the wall, fumbling until she came up with a tiny glass vial that she thrust into his hand.

His heart sank as he read the label.

Havoc leaned down to look, eyes widening as they took in the words. "Is that . . . what I think it is?"

"Truth serum," Roy said darkly, fingers curling tightly around the little vessel. His gaze shot toward Riza. "What did you tell them?" Her eyes watched him briefly, then flicked to Havoc; he was already backing away.

"I'll . . . wait outside. Guard the door," he muttered. Roy didn't blame him; seeing Riza act like this had him unsettled as well.

As soon as the door was closed, the words came pouring out. "Roy, I swear, I didn't tell them anything. Nothing. I just repeated my serial number, over and over and over." She leaned forward, elbows braced on her knees, the heels of her palms pressed against her forehead. "There's so many thoughts running through my head right now, I can barely even see straight. It's like my brain is on fire and the only way to put it out is to talk." Her voice caught, and he saw her teeth grit as she tried to keep control. "This is all my fault, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"Hey, take it easy." Pulling her close, he let her bury her face in his shoulder, wrapping both arms around her. "None of this can be blamed on you; you kept your mouth shut, right? So then it's okay. They didn't find anything out."

"The danger's still there," she muttered, voice rising in volume as she talked, still going a mile a minute. "I've got who knows how many little secrets hidden away, not just my own, but military secrets, _your _secrets, and to think that anyone can access them just by giving me a shot that makes me _babble _like an_ idiot_ —" Her hands gripped the front of his jacket. "Make it _stop_, Roy, just _make. It. Stop!_"

Grumman had mentioned something about truth serum once, how to subvert the effects, what was it . . . . Abruptly, it clicked. Putting both hands on Riza's shoulders, he pushed her back just far enough so that he could see her face. "I'm going to ask you a series of questions; on each and every one, I want you to lie. It will trick your system into thinking the drug has worn off. Do you understand? Just keep lying." She nodded. "Okay. What colour is the sky?"

She stared at him. ". . . What?"

"Just answer it. As a lie."

". . . . Red," Riza said at last. "It's red."

"Okay. What's twenty-four plus twenty-four?"

"Fifty."

On it continued, for the next ten minutes or so. Roy watched as, with every little lie, Riza began to relax. Her hands dropped from the front of his jacket, forehead leaning against his shoulder. He paused, looking down at the top of her head. "How do you feel now?"

Her half-amused smile was evident in her voice. "Worse than ever," she lied. She lifted her head, then shifted to stand, her business-like demeanour back in place. "All fibbing aside, we should go. I assume you called for backup from the military police?"

Roy nodded once. "They should be here soon." Picking up her jacket from the floor, he draped it around her shoulders. "When they question you, be sure to make it clear you didn't share anything you shouldn't have. And no lying to them," he added with a smirk.

"Of course not," Riza answered, slipping her arms into the jacket's sleeves. "I rarely ever truly lie; I simply don't share the entire truth. Case in point: when the MPs ask me about this little encounter, I'll be leaving out the part where we were in a position that could be viewed as fraternization."

"Just another secret." He regarded her guiltily for a moment. "I'm sorry about all this; if I had been paying closer attention, they wouldn't have gotten to you in the first place."

Her hand touched his arm. "It's all right. There's no permanent damage done. As you said: I kept my mouth shut, they didn't find out anything. Everything is fine."

Smiling ruefully, Roy shook his head. "Throwing my own words back at me. Clever." He sobered, dark eyes watching her carefully. "I guess . . . I just wanted to make sure you don't hate me for letting them get to you in the first place."

Mild surprise flitted briefly across her face. "Of course not. For getting here as quickly as you did, for helping me . . . ." Riza's mouth curved in a private smile. "It's quite the opposite of 'hate.'"

Watching her eyes as he was, Roy could tell she wasn't lying.


	12. Proof

_A/N: I promised you I wouldn't let Chapter Seven be the end of the Riza-under-arrest scenario, and the story's not over yet! Poor Roy; I really need to stop torturing him like this. _

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Twelve - Proof**

He sat in the second row of chairs behind the defense table, watching the back of Riza's head. She sat perfectly straight and still, the stars on her epaulets reflecting back the sunlight coming through the window. It shouldn't be sunny out, he mused. Not with serious proceedings like this going on.

"Your Honour, the prosecution presents Exhibit A — the bullet that killed the jeweller, Mr. Clement." Holding a small, transparent plastic bag high, the prosecutor approached the judge's bench and passed it to him for examination.

The judge gave the mangled metal lump a cursory glance, then returned it. "Evidence so entered. Do you have a witness to call, Counsellor?"

"Yes, Your Honour. The prosecution calls Lieutenant-Colonel Morris Adams to the stand."

A rotund man with salt-and-pepper hair rose from the viewers' seats and came forward. Stopping in front of the witness stand, he faced the prosecutor and raised his right hand.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, else be punished by law?"

"I do."

"Then, please." The prosecutor gestured to the witness stand. "Be seated." Waiting until Adams was comfortable, he began to pace. "Lieutenant-Colonel, please state your occupation for the record."

"I'm with military Equipment; it's my job to oversee the distribution of arms and ammunition to our soldiers." Adams folded his hands in his lap. "Because of my job, I'm required to be an expert on ballistic weaponry."

"Then perhaps, sir, you'd be willing to identify what type of bullet this is." Turning back to his witness, the prosecutor crossed the floor and held out the evidence bag and the lump of metal within. Adams took it, pulling a pair of glasses from inside his uniform jacket.

"Hmmm . . . . Well, at first glance, it's obviously a .32 caliber round, better suited to handguns and such." He turned the little bag over in his hands, inspecting the bullet's remains. "This here – this would be the pointed end. It's received less damage than I would expect, meaning it was probably more pointed than the average bullet. Harder, too. Something like soft iron, perhaps."

"So: a super-pointed, iron-tipped bullet . . . ." The prosecutor resumed his pacing. "How common is a bullet like that, Lieutenant-Colonel?"

"Not common at all," Adams said. "The military does stock them, but only at the headquarters in Central. For someone in East City to get them, they would have to be requisitioned from the quartermaster's office."

A smirk appeared on the lawyer's face. "Thank you, Lieutenant-Colonel." He turned to return to his seat, directing a 'Your witness' to the defense table.

Hawkeye's defense lawyer, a member of the military, unlike his opposing civilian counsel, was a tall, lean man in his early thirties and every bit as pure business as she was. Dark hair was combed back but for two pieces that insisted on falling into pale blue eyes.

Sitting with his arms folded, Roy scowled at the back of the man's head. Lieutenant-Colonel Ryan . . . . The man came recommended to Hawkeye by none other than Maes Hughes; when he'd heard about the trial, he'd placed a call to her personally, ignored her protests, and put Ryan on a train for East City the next morning.

Ryan didn't even move from his chair to question Adams. "I have no questions at this time, Your Honour," he said, deep voice carrying well across the courtroom. "But I reserve the right to call this witness at a later time."

"Very well," the judge agreed. "Lieutenant-Colonel Adams, you may step down."

The prosecutor hadn't even had a chance to resume his seat. Casting Ryan an annoyed glance, he straightened his suit jacket. "In that case, Your Honour, the prosecution calls Sergeant Johnathan Marck."

The new man passed Adams and was sworn in, taking his new seat on the witness stand. He was clearly anxious, with blond hair that stuck up at the back in an untameable cowlick. Marck fidgeted on the stand as the prosecutor glanced briefly at his notes, then stepped forward to begin.

"Sergeant, you are stationed with the quartermaster's office here in East City; is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what is your job there?"

Marck swallowed and shifted in his chair. "Uh . . . it's my job to take requisitions as they come in, help people fill out the forms they need, and give them the materials they order if we have them in stock, or whenever they arrive."

Returning to his table, the prosecutor picked up a file folder and took a sheet of paper from inside it. "Sergeant Marck, would you be so kind as to state what this is?"

Taking the proffered paper, Marck studied it for a moment. Roy could see the corners of the sheet shaking with the young man's nervousness. "It's a requisition form, for one box of twenty-four bullets. .32 caliber, super-pointed, iron-tipped." He pointed to the bottom of the page. "That's my signature, authorizing the order, and the other one belongs to the person who placed the order."

"And that name, Sergeant?"

Marck glanced guiltily toward the defense table, and Roy felt his heart sink. "First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye."

Murmuring broke out in the viewers' gallery, prompting the judge to pick up his gavel and rap it for order. Lifting one hand to his forehead, Roy massaged the beginnings of a headache. From the moment that Adams had identified that bullet, he'd known that this would be tied to her. Riza used those bullets in only one of her guns; the one she kept at the small of her back. Her personal one — not military issue — and her favourite to use in his defense if she needed to.

His defense, and the apparent beginning of her downfall.

The prosecutor was talking again. "Sergeant, are you familiar with First Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

"I can put name to face, but we've never had much in the way of conversation," Marck said, his fingers fidgeting.

"And how do you know her?"

The young man seemed to deflate a little. "About once every two months, she places an order with the quartermaster's office for a twenty-four-pack of .32 caliber super-pointed, iron-tipped bullets. She always picks it up the day it arrives from Central."

Facing his witness one last time, the prosecutor folded his hands behind his back. "When did you last see Lieutenant Hawkeye, Sergeant?"

Marck glanced again at Hawkeye, then down at his lap. ". . . A week and a half ago."

"Just before the holdup at the jewellery store that resulted in Mr. Clement's death by super-pointed, iron-tipped, .32 caliber bullet," the prosecutor mused. "Sergeant, in all the requisitions that pass through the quartermaster's office, how many are for this type of bullet?"

"Only about six or seven a year," Marck answered. "Like Lieutenant-Colonel Adams said, they're not that common."

Pacing away again, the prosecutor smiled slightly. Roy fought back the urge to stand up and burn the smirk off his face. "'Only about six or seven.' Math was never my strong suit, but it would seem to me, Sergeant, that six boxes of iron-tipped bullets through the East City quartermaster's office in one year translates to, in your words, 'once every two months.' When the defendant places and receives her order." He stepped toward his chair, and nodded at Ryan. "Your witness, Counselor."

Roy's headache ratcheted upward another level. Things had gone from bad to worse; he didn't see any way for Riza to get out of this now.

* * *

_BTW - this week was back-to-school. How did it go?_


	13. Betrayal

_A/N: This story just got a little more awesome, for the simple reason that Hughes has been added. 3_

I do not own FMA.

* * *

**Thirteen - Betrayal**

Before Roy even looked up from the newspaper lying open on his desk, he knew what he'd see; Maes Hughes striding across the floor of the office like he owned the place, grinning from ear to ear, one arm raised in an expansive wave. It was the footsteps - he only knew one person whose footsteps sounded like that.

"Morning, sunshine!"

Lifting his gaze, Roy watched as the the exact scene he'd imagined unfolded. It ended with Maes propping both elbows on the edge of his desk, resting his chin in his hands as he smiled. "I know something you don't know . . ." he said in a singsong tone.

"How to be annoying at eight in the morning?" Roy answered, as calmly as he could.

"Close!" Maes leaned forward, prompting Roy to move the opposite direction. "Hawkeye's testimony."

That drew the dark-haired alchemist's full attention. ". . . What?" Planting both hands on his desk, he stood, eyes fixed on his friend. "She hasn't even said anything to _me_ about where she was. Why did she go to _you_?"

Standing straight, finally serious, Maes slid his hands into his pockets. "Because I have experience with the legal system," he said. "Look, if it makes you feel any better —"

"Dammit!" Turning away, Roy paced toward the the window and stood glaring at the ground below. "I can't believe she wouldn't tell me . . . . Why wouldn't she tell me?!" His fist thudded against the window frame in frustration. "She's been with me through it all, why would she just keep it to herself, and then tell you?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," Maes said patiently. "She didn't say anything to you because she's trying to keep you out of it. For your own good."

Roy stared out the window a moment longer, before giving a soft snort. "Not even here and she's still trying to protect me . . . ." Turning back to face Maes, he folded his arms. "I can't just sit here and do nothing. How much pull do you have with this Ryan guy?"

Hughes shrugged. "Enough. What do you have in mind?"

* * *

"The defense calls Colonel Roy Mustang to the stand."

Shooting to his feet, expression livid, the prosecutor planted both hands on the tabletop. "Objection! Your Honour, the Colonel is the defendant's commanding officer; he'll be biased in what he says!"

Ryan spread his hands in an expansive gesture. "He's an excellent character witness for my client, Your Honour. It's my belief that there isn't a better one to be found elsewhere in East City."

The judge briefly contemplated first Roy, then Riza. ". . . As Colonel Mustang _does_ make a compelling character witness, I'll trust that he can keep any biases to himself. Colonel; you may step forward." His eyes narrowed in Ryan's direction. "Don't presume to test me so in the future, Counselor." Lifting one hand, he crooked two fingers to beckon Roy forward. During the short walk to the front of the courtroom, and while the bailiff was swearing him in, Roy was acutely aware of a pair of angry brown eyes trying to burn a hole in him from the defense table.

Once he was on the stand, Ryan paced forward. "Colonel Mustang, how long have you known the accused?"

Settling back in the chair, taking care to present a calm exterior, Roy laced his fingers together in his lap. "I've known her for several years; her father was my alchemy teacher, and we both fought in Ishval. She took a position as my adjutant after that."

Ryan folded his hands behind his back. "So you've been able to create a personal relationship with the Lieutenant outside of work?"

So much for calm, at least on the inside; that wasn't one of the questions Ryan had presented to Roy in briefing him for the chance to testify. ". . . . I'm not sure I like what you're implying, Counselor," he said carefully.

Ryan waved the concern aside. "I'm not implying anything, Colonel. I'm merely confirming that you and my client have a personal history."

". . . We do."

"And, knowing her as you do, Colonel, do you believe that Lieutenant Hawkeye is capable of holding up a store for some reason known only to herself at this point in time?"

He shook his head. "Absolutely not."

"What do you remember of the Lieutenant on the day of the alleged robbery?" Ryan spread his hands in a vague 'what can you tell me?' gesture. "Was she acting differently than usual? Did she say anything that seemed odd to you?"

Roy shook his head again. "Everything was normal."

"Thank you, Colonel. No further questions."

As Ryan turned and moved back toward his table, the prosecutor stood and came forward. "Colonel Mustang, you indicated to the arresting officers that you were unable to account for Lieutenant Hawkeye's whereabouts between thirteen-thirty and fourteen-ten on the day of the incident."

Suddenly, Roy could feel the invisible jaws of the trap closing on him. ". . . That's right."

"Are you in the habit of losing track of your subordinates, Colonel?"

His eyes narrowed in response. "I don't ask them to tell me where they are every second of the day. They're all adults, fully capable of looking after themselves; they don't need me to babysit them."

The prosecutor's eyebrows went up in feigned innocence. "Yet the defendant has shown a tendency to 'babysit' you in the past, has she not?"

"Objection," Ryan interjected. "Irrelevant."

"Withdrawn." Turning, the prosecutor strode back to his table. "No further questions."

"Colonel, you may step down." Making a note on a hidden pad, the judge looked to Ryan. "Does the defense have any more witnesses to call?"

"Yes, Your Honour. The defense calls Lieutenant-Colonel Maes Hughes to the stand."

Roy nearly tripped over his own feet at the sentence. Looking up to the viewing gallery just behind the defense and prosecution tables, he saw his friend getting to his feet with a plain manila folder. Regaining his balance, he slowed his steps just slightly, timing it so that he met the other by the first row of chairs.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed, voice low.

"Take it easy; I'm here to help." Continuing past, as though nothing had happened, he went through the oath and sat down casually, completely relaxed. Settling into his chair in the viewing gallery, Roy watched the proceedings with narrowed eyes.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes, would you please state your position with the military, for the record."

"I work with the Investigations Office in Central City, where I live with my wife and daughter." He leaned forward, reaching for a pocket. "Actually, I have a picture —"

"That's quite all right; please try to keep to the task at hand," the prosecutor said stiffly. He was obviously familiar with Maes' most memorable habit. "Have you spoken with the defendant regarding her testimony of the crime she is accused of?"

"Yes, I have."

Roy tensed angrily at the reminder of how he'd been so casually swept aside. Dark eyes shot toward his Lieutenant, glaring accusingly. Why hadn't she trusted him, told him what was going on? As if sensing the ire directed at her, Riza turned her head slightly, looking back at him. Her lips pressed together slightly as she caught the hints of hurt and betrayal mixed into the furious stare. She looked away, back to the goings-on at hand.

"And what did you discover?"

Maes smiled, waving a finger in mock scolding. "Ah ah ah, Counsellor. You know better than to ask that. I told you before this whole thing started that I wasn't allowed to talk about it, for the same reason that Lieutenant Hawkeye isn't. I'm under orders."

The prosecutor looked helplessly to the judge, who shrugged. "He has a point, Counsellor. Move on."

"Very well . . . ." Folding his hands behind his back, looking more than a little miffed, the man continued. "What exactly can you tell us, Lieutenant-Colonel?"

The familiar grin was still in place. "Just this, Counsellor: Riza Hawkeye was not in that store." He passed the manila folder to the prosecutor. "Defense Counsel has already seen these papers; I believe it's your turn."

The longer the lawyer stared at the folder's contents, the redder his face grew. At last, he cleared his throat and turned to face his opponent, clearly livid. "Does the defense wish to enter these documents into Evidence?" he bit out.

"By all means," was the casual reply.

Silence reigned as the judge took the folder, scanning the papers within, frowning deeply. "Counsellor," he addressed the prosecutor, "you are aware of the implications on the case, thanks to this . . . new evidence?"

"I am, Your Honour."

"Very well." Straightening, the judge announced, "Court is in recess for the next hour while the documents are verified." The bang of a gavel made it so.

* * *

_Hughes to the . . . is that a rescue? Possibly? Maybe? Who knows. (Oh wait, he does trolololololol). Thanks for dropping in; sign the guest book on your way out (a.k.a., write me a review!)_


	14. Covered Eyes

_A/N: Anybody here ever watched the TV show 'M*A*S*H'? This oneshot takes its inspiration from an episode where one of the main characters (ironically, nicknamed 'Hawkeye') sustains flash burns to his eyes. _

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Fourteen - Covered Eyes**

She remembered the first shots, and diving for cover behind a car. She remembered thinking that it was a lucky thing she'd gone ahead of the others, so that the Colonel was out of immediate danger. She remembered backing up the street, dropping to a prone position as she searched for the person firing at her . . . just as a stray bullet hit the gas tank of the car she'd just vacated, turning it into a fireball.

Riza remembered searing heat hitting her face-first, remembered dropping her gun, remembered the sound of her own scream and the feeling of pure fire across her eyes.

Within seconds, she knew, the backup force had arrived on the scene. She'd heard voices layered upon voices as they shouted at others to call an ambulance, or at her to move her hands and let them see the injury. Waves of pain rolled across her face, and through it all, she was vaguely aware of Roy's voice calling her name. Then, on the heels of the pain came the darkness, and she knew no more.

* * *

He was half asleep in the room's visitor's chair, one hand holding his head up, when he heard her cough. Sitting upright, Roy looked over to the blonde lieutenant just coming awake in the hospital bed. She coughed again, working moisture into a dry mouth as he stood up.

"Welcome back," he said quietly. Although his voice was soft, she still jumped in surprise.

"Colonel?"

"Yeah. Here; you look like you need a drink." Picking up a cup of water from the bedside table, he held it to her mouth; she sipped carefully a couple times, then leaned back.

"Thanks." Taking a deep breath, she asked, "What happened?"

Roy should have known that that would be her first question; he wished he didn't have to answer. Setting the cup back on the table, he sat down on the edge of the bed. "When that car exploded, most of the blast caught you in the face. There's first-degree burns to a lot of the skin . . . and to your eyes."

At the edge of his peripheral vision, he saw her right hand clench into a fist. ". . . . And?"

"It's too soon to tell, Riza." Reaching over, he covered her right hand with his left. "The bandages will come off in about a week; either your eyes will have healed enough to see, or . . . ." He couldn't make himself say it.

"Or my last name isn't a pun anymore," she finished. There was a brief pause before Riza lifted her left hand, bringing it to the side of his face. Roy sat very still as her fingers touched his cheek, the corner of his mouth, then brushed over his forehead. Riza sighed. "Sir, I wish you'd get that look off your face. If this is the way things have to be, then there's nothing that can be done about it, is there."

The concerned frown stayed in place. "Riza, this is your entire career we're talking about here! You can't just brush that aside with some fatalistic attitude! You can't tell me you've worked this hard not to —"

He broke off as her finger touched his lips. "Roy. Stop." Her mouth formed a thin line as she swallowed hard. "I'm trying to stay objective about this, because something tells me that if I start tearing up, it's going to hurt like hell."

* * *

Her injury wasn't so serious that she had to stay in the hospital longer than overnight; by noon the next day, she was at home. Hayate sniffed her anxiously, whining quietly; he could sense the discomfort his mistress was experiencing. At Riza's order, Havoc left and returned to the office; she knew her apartment's layout by memory and would be able to get around just fine.

What had her worried was the fact that, at this very moment, Roy was in his office at East City Headquarters without her to watch over him. Aside from his alchemy, which would be useless if he came near a sufficient amount of moisture, he was defenceless.

It had crossed her mind, more than once, that she had been wounded as part of a plan to get to him. If she was taken out, and he was caught alone near water, he was as good as beaten. Or worse. Yet she hesitated to tell him so; he would only scoff and brush away her concerns, would tell her she was worried about nothing, or paranoid.

Maybe so, but her paranoia had saved his skin before.

She was just debating whether to call the office or not when she heard the door open almost stealthily. Footsteps entered as Hayate's claws clicked on the hardwood floor, then the door closed . . . .

"You're supposed to be at work, Colonel," she said mildly, turning her head in his direction.

There was a pause. ". . . How did you know it was me?"

Moving one shoulder in a shrug, Riza turned her head forward again. "I recognized the sound of your footsteps. Also, Hayate didn't bark, which means he knows you."

He crossed to where she sat cross-legged on her bed, next to the open window. The mattress creaked and shifted as he settled down beside her. "You're getting pretty good at seeing without your eyes," he commented. The bed gave another small shake as Hayate jumped up to join the two of them. "But you've gotta be going out of your mind with nothing to do."

She smiled slightly. "I thought I would be, but I'm not. Listen . . . ." She tilted her head toward the window. A mixture of noises came from the street outside — vehicles passing, birds chirping, over a dozen different conversations from people passing by. "It's a strange feeling to sit here and listen to everything going on," Riza said quietly, smile still playing around her mouth. "It's almost like I'm out among it. Even if I can't see it, I can picture what it looks like."

"It sounds like life," Roy commented, and she could hear his smile, in answer to her own. "What does this mean for you? If you don't get your sight back?"

Her smile vanished. "It doesn't mean a thing. What good is a bodyguard if she can't see to protect her charge?" she said quietly. "For that matter, what good is a blind soldier?"

He went very still just then; she could almost hear the gears turning in his head as he contemplated the implications of what she'd said. "You'd have a medical discharge," he said at last, tone implying that he was still thinking hard. "You'd also need to have someone to look out for you . . . a week is one thing, but you shouldn't be alone like this for years on end."

Riza had come to the same realization just hours beforehand, but asked the question anyway. "Just what are you leading up to, sir?"

"For one thing, you wouldn't be calling me 'sir,' anymore," he said dryly. "And for another . . . well, I think your father would turn over in his grave if he knew I wasn't looking after you."

"And what about Grandfather?" she said, already knowing the answer.

"General Grumman?" He gave a soft snort of sarcastic derision. "He's been trying to put the two of us together for years now. With this . . . it's possible he could get his wish."

* * *

With the bandages removed, she shaded her eyes as the doctor instructed, feeling, for the first time in a week, the still-tender skin of her forehead. Behind the two soft pads covering them, her eyes were still closed, awaiting the order to open them and the subsequent moment of truth.

Fingers slipped the pads out from under her hand, and the doctor's voice came through the darkness. "All right, Lieutenant. Open your eyes, slowly. Let's find out what we've got."

Riza hesitated. ". . . . Colonel?"

"Right here." The quiet voice came from directly in front of her; he was crouched by the side of the low cot she sat on. "Go for it."

Taking a deep breath, she carefully opened her eyes just slightly. The motion made her eyelids ache a little, but she kept on, opening them little by little and carefully pulling her hand away. Bright light stabbed at her eyes, making them unable to open all the way, but what she could see . . . .

Was Roy, crouched just in front of her, watching her closely. She didn't need to tell him; the rare, full smile that appeared on her face told him so, and he answered it in kind.


	15. The Scent of Blood

_A/N: So, after a long week of handing in projects, and my flash drive trying to commit seppuku . . . I can relax. And post a new oneshot! : D This particular one already appears on my profile as a Christmas piece; I wrote it as a theme challenge first, and then posted it separately for Christmas last year. Either way, double the enjoyment!_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Fifteen - The Scent of Blood**

He jogged among the tents, the small package in his pocket bouncing against his leg with every step. Roy's eyes kept moving, scanning faces as he went, looking for one in particular.

"Hey! Roy!" A hand shot up from a group of people around a campfire, waving to get his attention. Slowing to a walk, Roy diverted his path toward it as Maes Hughes stood up. "Where's the fire?" the bespectacled man grinned. "You look like a man on a mission."

"Not really," the alchemist shrugged. "I was just looking for Hawkeye. I don't suppose you've seen her?"

"Mmmmm, can't say I have," Maes mused, rubbing his chin with one hand. Behind his glasses, golden eyes glinted as an obviously sly thought occurred to him. "Saaaaaaay . . . . just _why_ are you looking for that little lady, hmm? Did a girl finally catch some serious interest from you?"

Roy's face was as blank as his friend's was mischievous. "I have something for her, that's all. I'll see you later." He moved to brush past the other man, but his arm was seized before he made it.

"Looking for a certain girl, and carrying a present for her, too . . . ." Maes said suspiciously, peering closely at Roy. "And tonight's Solstice Eve, isn't it . . . ." He broke into a grin. "You hoping for a kiss or two under the mistletoe?"

Jerking free, Roy scowled at him. "You idiot, she's still just a cadet; like I'd risk the fraternization charges. I'm not stupid." Turning on his heel, he stalked off, trying to ignore Maes' kissy-noises from behind him.

It was a fairly safe bet that if Hawkeye wasn't in her tent, or the mess tent, and Maes hadn't seen her around, then she was on guard duty. Turning toward the camp's eastern perimeter, Roy picked up his pace again, heading for her usual post.

He hadn't gone more than five steps before gunfire rang out ahead.

* * *

Her right hand told her it was clutching her left upper arm, but the only feeling coming from that area was intense pain. Riza gritted her teeth, curling in on herself as she struggled to breathe. She felt other hands on her shoulders, pressing her to lie back on the ground; heard voices shouting for her to let go of the wound, to breathe, to let the medic examine her.

One pair of hands touched her face; her eyes opened to an upside-down view of Major Roy Mustang. ". . . S-sir . . . ."

"Steady; let the medic do his job," he said, tilting his chin toward the man waiting at her side. "Let go of your arm."

Shutting her eyes tight again, Riza forced her fingers to relax and her hand to move. Almost instantly, she felt seeping wetness on her sleeve; she bit her lip at the sensation. _I won't cry . . . . _

"Superficial, but still painful," the medic said quietly. "The bullet is still in the wound; it'll need to be surgically removed. Litter!"

Pressure was applied to the wound, and Riza dared to open her eyes, though she kept them firmly away from her injury. She could smell the blood; she certainly didn't want to see it. Looking up at the Major instead, she gave a grim smile. "It'll take more than one lucky shot to finish me, sir. I'll be all right."

"You bet you will," Mustang replied, just as grimly. "I don't have duty for twelve hours; I'll stay with you."

"That's not necess—"

"Yes, it is," he said tightly, as two corpsmen set a stretcher down next to her. "No arguing."

* * *

He was waiting in the rickety, so-called "post-operative ward," set as far back from the front lines as the camp would allow, when Hawkeye was assisted in. She was on her feet, though her good arm was slung around the shoulders of a young man as he led her to an open bed. Her left arm was bandaged at the bicep and held in a sling against her chest.

Rising from his chair in the corner, glad for a distraction from the permeating smell of blood, Roy crossed to them and tapped the orderly on the shoulder. "I'll take it from here."

Catching sight of his epaulets — and correctly interpreting the rank implied — the orderly saluted with a brisk 'Yes, sir!' then slipped past and disappeared.

"You didn't have to wait for me to get out of surgery," Hawkeye commented, easing down to sit on the bed. "It was just a local anaesthetic and a pair of tweezers. Hardly even surgery at all."

"It's still good to know you're all right," he countered. Reaching out, he propped up the pillow for her to lean against. "You came awfully close to . . . to . . . ." He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"To being one of the people I always see through my rifle scope," she finished dryly. "I'm aware of that. I appreciate your concern, Major."

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Roy dug in his pocket. "Besides, I was looking for you anyway." He produced a small square package wrapped in plain brown paper and held it out to her. "This came with mail call today; just in time, too."

Hawkeye studied the package suspiciously, then glanced carefully around the ward. None of the other patients were awake or paying attention."I'm sorry, sir, I can't accept favours from a higher-ranked officer in the chain of command."

"You're not taking it from an officer," he said, continuing to hold it out. "It's from a friend."

Smiling slightly at the technicality, Hawkeye finally reached out and lifted the little box from his palm. Setting it in her lap, she undid the string holding the paper closed, extricating the little box inside. Roy reached over to help her open it, then watched as her eyes widened at the contents.

"They're beautiful," she said, giving a rare, full smile. She touched one thumb to the plain silvery stud earrings inside. "Thank you."

"I noticed your other ones got lost about a month ago; consider these a replacement pair," Roy muttered, standing and shoving his hands into his pockets. "I didn't think you'd want anything fancy; not out here in the middle of everything."

Hawkeye nodded, and closed the box, slipping it inside her sling. "Of course." She smiled again, knowingly this time. "Happy Solstice, Major."


	16. Reaching VoiceUnreachable With a Voice

_A/N: Well, folks, up here in the Great White North (a.k.a. Canada), it's Thanksgiving time. I'd like to take this moment to say a big thank you to all of you who have reviewed Snap Shots, added it to your alerts, or added me to your Author Alerts: _

kasumin, Leech the Puppy, CeilPhantomhive255, to overcome reality, Literacy is the Best Policy, AwesomeCoolPerson, Antigone Rex, D-chi, WithoutWingsX, ItalianRose5, flightless and stranded, Thoren Quill, isecretlywrite, msaleat, Taethowen, BlaiseEridence, LittleAlchemist, InsertDecentNameHere, AwkwardPossum, Tsubame-go, h0neyxx, BlissfulCalamity, Ink Mayfly, AgentJoy, BluishOrbs, Kaze no Ato, McKazekage, lusiw123, Colbalt Sunfire, krikianita, Mystery Cinderella

_I'd also like to say thank you to my boyfriend, and my best friend, for being my sounding boards, idea generators, players of the 'what if' game, and for tolerating me every time I say "So in the oneshot I'm working on right now..." _

_You are all just one of many things I am thankful for. As a token of my esteem, here's another oneshot, and there's still eighty-four more to come!_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Sixteen - Reaching Voice and Unreachable With a Voice**

"Colonel, did you fall asleep again?"

Roy's eyes popped open and he swiftly sat straight. "Of course not," he said, doing his level best not to let residual drowsiness slur the words. "I was just . . . checking to make sure you were paying attention."

Standing on his left, one corner of her mouth lifted in a knowing smirk, Riza studied him carefully. "Is that so . . . . And I suppose the snoring I heard was faked, was it?"

"Absolutely." He looked up at her straight-faced. "Was there something you needed to talk to me about?"

Her smirk widened, ever so slightly. With one hand on her hip, she set the other one on the top of his desk, leaning close. "As a matter of fact . . . there is." Her free hand moved to swivel his chair in her direction. Roy kept his eyes steady on her face, hiding the fact that his pulse was starting to speed up; he had a feeling where this was going.

With slow, deliberate ease, Riza settled herself across his lap, one knee either side of his hips. Roy thanked his lucky stars and whatever powers that were that it was too late for anyone else to be hanging around headquarters. The last thing he wanted was an interruption.

A slender finger traced the silver edging of his jacket collar. Riza tilted her head to one side, brown eyes following the path it made. "Sir, why do you feel the need to lie to me when I catch you sleeping?" Her lower lip pouted just slightly as her gaze returned to his. "I don't make you feel guilty, do I?"

Roy shrugged casually. "Maybe just a little."

"Hmm." Hands on his shoulders, she leaned forward, her breath tickling against his ear as she purred, "How unfortunate. Should I attempt to make up for it?"

Finally, he moved his hands from the chair arms and let them brush against her sides, just below the double holsters hidden by her jacket. "That depends what you have in mind, Lieutenant." Within moments, he lost himself in his fantasy.

* * *

Re-entering the office as silently as possible, carrying a paper cup, Riza made her way across to the man still face-down on his desk. Roy still wore a smile, his eyes closed in dreams only he could see. Bending slightly, she said, "Sir, this needs to stop now."

The smile disappeared into an expression of utter disappointment. "Already? We were just getting started . . . ." The barest of pauses, before he switched again to a cocky grin. "You're not getting cold feet, are you, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir," she said grimly. "But you're about to."

Standing straight, Riza lifted the collar of his uniform jacket and the shirt underneath with one hand while using the other to toss the cupful of ice cubes down his back. One second ticked past . . . then two . . . and three . . . .

With a panicked yelp, Roy sat bolt upright, eyes wide as he came awake. Within another second, he shot to his feet, reached behind himself, and pulled his shirt out from its place tucked into his pants. Ice went scattering across the floor, six cubes in total.

Hands braced on the desk, breathing hard from the shock, Roy shot her a baleful glare. "What. The. _Hell_."

Setting the cup down, Riza folded her hands behind her back. "I was having a difficult time trying to wake you, sir. You were coherent enough to understand what I was saying, and to respond, but I believe you may have been dreaming instead." She offered a small smile. "I was trying to wake you, because it's late, and time we both went home."

"Oh." He looked at his desk chair, then back to her. "So . . . you didn't . . . ."

She frowned slightly in puzzlement. "Didn't what, sir?"

Rubbing self-consciously at the back of his neck, Roy smiled sheepishly. "You're right, I was dreaming. But in the dream, you were . . . actually we were . . . uh . . . ." He hesitated, not quiet sure how to word it.

There was a brief flicker of surprise that registered on Riza's face before she hid it behind an amused smile. "Say no more, sir." Turning away, she moved back to her own desk to collect her things. "After all, we wouldn't want anything you say to put you in a compromising position, would we."

"Right . . . ." Putting his attention to squaring away his desk, his thoughts nevertheless drifted to something Hughes had told him long ago: men spoke through action. His eyes found Riza again, watching her move just for a second. Maybe, if he couldn't tell her everything . . . he would just have to show her instead.

They reached the office door at the same time; before she opened it, Roy leaned over and lightly planted a kiss on her cheek. Riza merely smiled in return, before they emerged into the hall and headed for the exit.

* * *

_This one originally started out as something considerably darker, but after a string of stories like that, I think it's time things got happy/amusing. At least for one chapter, if not longer. Don't forget to review!_


	17. Scars

_A/N: Ahhhhh, another Sunday, another Snap Shot. Enjoy, lovelies!_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Seventeen - Scars**

"Your back's hurting today, huh?"

Calmly unlocking her building's side door, Riza didn't even bother to turn around. "It's nothing I can't handle, sir. Is that the only reason you followed me, or is there something else I can help you with?"

Following her through the door, Roy watched her carefully, still seeing the tense shoulders and almost cautious steps he'd been noticing all day. There was only one reason that Riza Hawkeye moved that way, and that reason was because her back was hurting. To top it off, this was the second day she'd come into the office with a cold, making sure not to touch anyone or get too close. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he said as they started up the stairs. "I couldn't exactly say anything in front of the others."

"You had any number of opportunities on the way here," she countered.

"It's a private sort of topic."

He had never been sure whether his . . . "contributions" to the tattoo on her back had anything to do with the random episodes of pain she experienced. He supposed scar tissue might prove problematic somehow, but that was his only connection. It might simply be something that just . . . happened.

Black Hayate jumped around their feet, yapping excitedly at his mistress's return. When he'd finished greeting her, he ran to her comrade, planting his front paws on Roy's leg: a sure sign that he wanted his ears scratched.

Closing the door behind him, Riza gave a quiet sigh; he could tell she was getting exasperated at his stubbornness.. "I'm fine, Colonel. This, too, shall pass."

"I'm sure it will, but I want to know why it's turned up in the first place," Roy pressed. "What did you do to yourself to bring this on?"

"It's a side effect," she said, folding her arms. "I've got the start of a cold, and whenever I get a cold, my back hurts from repeated coughing, sneezing, whatever. That's the reason."

Silence descended on the small apartment, broken only by Hayate's panting. Roy stared at her, not sure whether she was being serious or just making something up to stop his worrying. ". . . . Really?" She nodded. "Since when?"

For the briefest possible moment, guilt flitted across her face, though she maintained eye contact. ". . . It's been several years now."

"Is that so . . . ." His eyes narrowed. "'Several' as in 'exactly seven?'"

Finally, she looked away, irritated. "Yes."

He'd been afraid of that; Roy could feel his heart sink at this new information. "I see . . . ." No. What's done is done, he told himself firmly. There had to be a way to help her — after all, he'd only helped put her in this position. All he had to do was think of it.

And abruptly, he got it.

One hand rose, pointing to a chair at the table. "Sit."

On the floor between them, Hayate sat obediently, thinking the order was for him. Riza didn't notice, watching Roy with one raised eyebrow. ". . . Isn't it usually the custom for the homeowner to offer the guest a place to sit? You've got it backwards."

"I'm not the one with a sore back," he said, shrugging. "Just sit . . . ."

"Roy —"

"_Lieutenant_ . . . ."

She paused for a full second to glare at him for pulling rank, then turned toward the indicated chair. Sitting down, she turned sideways on it at his tap on her shoulder. Standing behind her, he placed both hands at the base of her neck, beginning to massage the tense muscles firmly, yet carefully.

Neither said anything, Roy focussing on his task, and Riza still fuming quietly. Gradually, she let her shoulders relax, what anger was evident on her face fading as the dull ache in her shoulders receded. He stared softly at the back of her head, trying to convey through touch how guilty and sorry he felt. Minutes ticked by, until at last, she leaned forward.

"It's better now. Thank you."

Tucking his hands in his pockets, Roy took a step back. "No problem." He studied the back still turned to him, expression regretful. "I'm just sorry to have caused it."

"You shouldn't be." Riza stood, and turned to face him. The hard look in her eyes was gone, replaced by something softer: forgiveness. "We agreed that destroying the most crucial parts of the research was necessary, and to prevent another human weapon or another Ishval, it's worth it."

He knew that, if given a choice, she still would have asked him to erase the information from her back. If given the choice a hundred times, she would choose the scars every time. If he were given the choice, he would still ask her to watch his back, whether the choice was given once, or a hundred times.

Roy smirked. "Always the logical one." Turning, he started for the door, one hand waving a languid goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, Riza."

"Good night, sir."

As much a part of their past as Ishval, or Roy's training under her father, the scars were one more thing that tied them together. The pain they caused was mutual – for her, it was physical, and for him, psychological. But more than that, they were marks of trust – her trust in him that he would stay on the right path, and his trust in her to keep him there.

* * *

_And that's why they can't live without each other. The End.  
Not really. I've got a crapload of these things left to post. ^^_

_For serious, my dears, I've got projects galore for school right now. Make me smile; give me some feedback. :)_


	18. I Don't Want to Realize

_A/N: Horror of horrors, my loves; in a rush to get out of class on Friday, I left my flash drive (that magical bit of technology that holds my school files and ALL my current Royza) plugged into the computer. I didn't realize until I got to my parents' house that night. After a few hours of frantically e-mailing my professors, I was informed it had been left on the teacher's desk. My very bestest friend (to whom I now owe coffee, lunch, and as many hugs as my arms will give) picked it up for me on Saturday afternoon._

_I 'don't want to realize' what might have happened if someone had stolen it. I would be out assignments, and every current Snap Shot and Situation would be gone. Lost. Treat your friends right, kids; they deserve it, and karma will pay you back._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Eighteen - "I Don't Want to Realize"**

His hair was plastered to his forehead, falling more into his eyes than usual. Roy blinked rapidly, trying to see past the dark strands, and cursing the water that had him drenched from head to toe. Gunfire rattled over his head, and he ducked behind the low wall. The enemy had him trapped, unable to help.

The sharp report of another gun joined the cacophony, this one from close by. He allowed himself a tight smile. That would be Riza, taking cover behind the wall identical to his just ten metres away.

Right. He still had Riza, and the others were on the way as of five minutes ago; another five, and they would be here. Sooner, if Havoc ignored the speed limit.

Leaning back against the wall, he listened as the first weapons shifted their aim away from his hiding place and toward hers. If he hadn't been soaked, now would have been the perfect opportunity to stand, snap his fingers, and send them all to the burn ward. No, this time he had to let Riza do the work; not to worry, he'd get the next one.

The enemy's weapons fell briefly silent; seconds later, there was a pained scream from an unfamiliar voice. She'd hit one. Roy's fist clenched in victory . . . just as a surprised yell came from the direction of the other wall. He knew the voice this time.

"Hawkeye!"

"Relax, Colonel, your little lady's fine . . . for the moment," a voice called. It was gruff and strange, not someone he recognized, but no doubt the leader of the circle they'd been working to apprehend. "That might change if you don't come out with your hands on your head like a good boy."

Gritting his teeth, Roy realized he had no choice. Lifting his hands above the wall, he stood, folded them on top of his head, and turned to face the man addressing him. The other had a strong jaw that would break almost any fist that hit it, and short-cropped white hair that was slightly spiked down the middle of his scalp. He wasn't older than his mid-forties, and judging from the barrel chest and muscular arms, he was someone that it was better to think twice about tangling with.

Teeth were bared as the man grinned. "See? Was that so hard?"

Roy ignored him, dark eyes casting a sidelong glance to where a smaller but still burly man held on to a struggling, unarmed, and very angry Lieutenant Hawkeye. One meaty arm was clamped across her collarbone; she had both hands pulling at it, trying to keep it from pressing too hard against her neck.

"Let her go," he told the first man. "As long as nothing happens to me, she'll behave."

The ringleader shook his head. "I wish I could, Colonel. However, she shot one of my men." He gestured to the side where two others were leaning over a scrawny man, pressing an antiseptic pad to a bloody wound in his leg. "You're an alchemist; you have the law of 'equivalent exchange.' In my business, we have a different saying. 'An eye for an eye.'"

Something tightened around his heart like a vise; it took him a moment to recognize it as the beginnings of panic. They were going to shoot her.

He was almost surprised at how his voice still sounded calm. "That's one way of looking at it. Another is that 'violence is an endless circle.' I told you that as I long as I was all right, she wouldn't attack again, but that's a two-way street." His eyes narrowed. "If you point a gun her way, I'll take you down before you can pull the trigger."

The man laughed. "With what weapon, Colonel? We've already dealt with your gloves, unless you've got another pair stashed away somewhere." The laugh became a sneer. "Besides, I wasn't planning on aiming a gun anywhere near your woman. That's far too good for her."

Roy looked over at her again; she'd gone still, and with good reason. In her attacker's free hand was a long, thin metal stake, not unlike a chef's sharpening steel, though considerably more pointed on the business end. That point was hovering just left of centre over her chest; over her heart.

"You come in here, planning to arrest my men and I on the orders of your military," the ringleader was saying. "You were confident, Colonel, that you and your Lieutenant could handle it. Your State Alchemist title made you cocky, made you think you were on a higher level than us mere mortals. But I have news for you."

Heavy boots thudded across the floor, the man stalking across to stand directly in front of Roy with an expression of deep contempt. "You're just a simple human like the rest of us. You bleed the same, you sweat the same . . . and you die the same." His head turned to the man with the strange dagger. "Kill her."

Obediently, the henchman lifted his weapon hand, ready to bring that horribly pointed, oversized needle plunging down into his victim; it was just the opening Riza needed.

Her hands left the arm across her throat, her elbows driving backward into a powerful, painful double blow just below the man's ribcage. The breath left him in a whooshing sound, the knife falling from a suddenly slack hand as his arms dropped to his sides. He seemed to sag as Riza took a step forward, whirling to face him.

Roy winced automatically as her knee came up between the man's legs. The big fellow uttered a whimper and went down on his side as the furious brown-eyed blonde turned on the man threatening her superior officer.

"Are you next?"

_Slam! Ka-chak!_ The front doors of the warehouse burst open, a total of six armed men striding inside with primed weapons. The thugs took a moment to size up the numbers — six against five — before they all got a second look at a glowering Major Armstrong.

The harsh lighting glinted off of Hughes' glasses as he took an extra step forward. "All right, boys, let's not make this any harder than it has to be . . . ."

* * *

Fingers lightly holding her chin, Hughes turned Riza's face one way, then the other, checking for signs of damage across her neck where the muscleman's arm had been. "Looks like you were lucky. If his grip had been any tighter, he would have either knocked you out, or broken your neck." He grinned. "But you'll be okay."

Before she could answer, Roy spoke up from his seat beside her. "If you don't mind, Hughes, I need a word with her." Dark eyes glanced at his friend. "Alone."

"Subtle as always," the other man quipped, before turning and sidling over to where the five prisoners were under close watch from the rest of Roy's staff.

Roy waited a pair of heartbeats before muttering, "I'm sorry I got you into this. I should have figured they might have a way to take me out of the fight."

"It was a last-minute decision for the two of us to go in," Riza shrugged slightly, eyes on the floor. "What happened wasn't your fault."

"I should have at least had an extra set of gloves on me, just in case," he persisted. "Should have, could have, would have . . . . But what their leader said . . . that's what really gets me. You and I have all this training, know how to protect ourselves . . . ." He swallowed hard, finally sending her a sideways glance. "And I could still lose you so easily. One slip-up; that's all it takes. I don't want to think about what might happen if I screw up like this again."

Brown eyes came up to meet his in relentless determination. "They say to learn from your mistakes. Do that, and there won't be a next time. That's what I'm going to do, so that I don't have to realize how easy it would be for me to lose you, as well."

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed! New Snap Shots every Sunday night, folks — don't forget to share!_


	19. Things One Cannot Understand

_A/N: I've started re-reading every volume of FMA that I own. I'm not sure why; perhaps I'm looking for story ideas. Either way, I enjoy it far too much._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Nineteen - Things One Cannot Understand**

She stared at the hollow square of white stone rising out of the desert sand, walled in on three sides by an outcropping of rocks. A blanket was attached to the one open side as a makeshift door-slash-curtain, but it was otherwise enclosed. "Sir . . . what is this?"

Hands in his pockets, Roy kicked at the sand self-consciously. "It's for you. A wash station away from all the others, where you don't have to worry about people staring at you when you want to get clean." He shrugged. "It'll save you from having to shower in the middle of the night just to avoid being seen."

Riza stepped close, running her fingers along one smooth wall; here and there were the unmistakeable signs of alchemic transmutation. The white stone made sense now; some of sort of mineral found in the grit that surrounded them for miles. "All right, but . . . why?"

Roy scowled. "You shouldn't have to worry about men staring at you. You're the only woman in the entire camp, Riza; you can't tell me you haven't seen others look at you like . . . ." He gritted his teeth, and stopped.

Yes, she had noticed. It had been a matter of days since arriving on the battlefront before Riza learned to dress swiftly, covering as much as possible as she did so. That didn't stop the stares, or the feeling that, by their eyes on her alone, some of the men were peeling away her clothing little by little.

"I've had a few looks," she commented. "But other than that, they leave me alone. As for showering in the middle of the night, I don't mind. It's quiet then, and —"

"And what if I told you that, at the back of the tent over the showers, there's a strategically placed hole?" he deadpanned. "Put there by several people who know you go there after the camp's asleep?"

For a long moment, she simply stared at him. ". . . . I see." Her voice was soft, with a hidden edge of danger. "I hope you're not one of the people that put that hole there, Major." Her thumb brushed along the edge of her rifle's carrying strap, slung over her shoulder; his eyes followed the movement, and widened as he caught her meaning.

"No!" He lifted his hands in automatic defense. "Riza, I swear, I didn't help! I was the one that _caught_ them!"

"So instead of getting a patch for a hole, you create a whole new structure away from the rest of the camp, for one person?" She folded her arms. "I'll ask you again, _sir_: why?"

"Because if one hole was patched, they'd just make a new one, and because your father asked me to look after you!" Roy snapped, hands curled into fists at his sides. The heat in his tone took Riza by surprise; when she didn't say anything, he pressed on. "I'm not doing this because I'm singling you out, or because I'm playing favourites . . . . I'm doing this because . . . . Well . . . ." He ducked his head, murmuring something too quietly for her to hear.

Uncertainly, Riza took a half-step forward. "I'm sorry, sir . . . I didn't catch that."

Roy's head came up, his eyes determined. "I said, I'm doing this because I care about you. Realistically, I can't stand guard every time you need to take a shower, and I don't want to risk any of the men trying something if I'm not there." He reached out and patted the side of the white stone stall. "With this, they can't see you. Out of sight, out of mind; or so I hope."

She hesitated, then stepped forward and pushed the blanket out of the way to look inside. "Not much light . . . but I'm used to showering in the dark anyway."

He shifted, watching her inspect his work. "Do you think you'll actually use it? You don't have to, if you don't want to. It's not the best work in the world, so —"

"Nothing out here is the best work in the world," she countered dryly. Looking to him, she gave a small smile. "Thank you. I'm not sure I fully understand why you're so bent on doing things like this, but . . . I appreciate it."

Roy grinned, one shoulder moving in a shrug. "I don't fully get it myself. But you're welcome."

* * *

_You've got three options: review, follow, or fave. You can choose one. You can choose two. You can do all three. As long as you do something._ : )


	20. Murderer

_A/N: I'm sorry these have all been so short, lately. Don't worry — they'll get longer again starting next week. ^^ I've also had a bunch of you ask when the trial storyline will be continued: don't worry. It starts again at theme Twenty-four. Just a few more weeks, ladies and gents. Hang in there!_**  
**

_Also, a note to all of you who were affected this week by Hurricane Sandy: you are strong. You stood strong. It will take strength to rebuild. Remember that, and nothing will stop you._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Twenty - 'Murderer'**

The door slammed behind them, and Roy shook his head. "And I thought Fullmetal was getting bad for running into trouble . . . ."

The bag of groceries in Hawkeye's arms rustled as she shifted her grip. "I think that's a little unfair, sir," she said, matter-of-factly. "I don't find trouble as often as he does."

"But when you do, you jump in feet first." Both hands on his hips, the dark-haired alchemist faced his lieutenant, scowling. "Dammit, Hawkeye, don't you realize what almost happened to you?"

"Yes, I do," she said, still as calm and unruffled as ever. "However, given the situation, sir, don't you think we have bigger things to worry about? Barry just gave us some very disturbing information, that –"

"I'm aware of what _Barry_ just told us," Roy growled, using the name almost as a curse word. "And yes, I'm concerned about it, and about getting him somewhere out of sight. It's just . . . ." He broke off, glancing around the dark street, then turned and stalked toward the curb. "Come on; get in the car. I'm taking you home."

Riza obeyed silently, settling into the passenger seat as he climbed in behind the wheel. The engine roared to life, and the vehicle pulled away . . . perhaps with a bit more speed than necessary. Sending him a surreptitious sidelong glance, she lifted an eyebrow. "Driving angry is a good way to get into an accident. Would you like me to take over?"

"No," he bit out. A few seconds of silence later, he said, "It won't kill you to show some emotion, Riza! Aren't you even a _little_ affected by what just happened?"

"You'll have to be more specific about which part," she said truthfully. "In the past two hours, I've been attacked by a homicidal maniac, who happens to be a former serial killer that was supposedly executed, but instead, his soul was transferred to a suit of armour for use in an alleged military conspiracy. In addition to all of that, he appears to be in love with me."

Roy grimaced. "Okay, fine. The part when Barry attacked you; does that scare you at all?"

"Not past the initial adrenaline rush. Then again, I'd like to point out that I've survived many similar ambushes during my career."

"The part where Barry is the soul of a former serial killer attached to a suit of armour?"

Riza shrugged. "Alphonse is a soul attached to a suit of armour. I've spent enough time around alchemists to know that strange things are to be expected . . . and to realize the implications when a suit of armour walks and talks on its own."

Now the question he hated the most. "And the part where he's in love with you?"

She paused, considering it. "He's a psychopath. Whatever feeling toward me he thinks is love is probably nowhere close to the real thing. Besides, it's only because I wasn't afraid of him and didn't run; he likely attaches my lack of response to a mentality like his, and derives from that that we belong together."

". . . Please stop talking about it so casually," Roy almost shuddered. "The thought of him being all over you like he was . . . . Makes my skin crawl."

"He wouldn't have hurt me, you know," she pointed out. "Once he realized I wasn't going to run, and he started thinking about me in a . . . romantic sense –" Roy winced. "– then I was perfectly safe."

"Like you said, Riza, he's a psychopath." Dark eyes searched out the upcoming street sign, and the car slowed slightly to make the turn. "Not to mention, he's also a convicted serial killer. A murderer. What's to stop him from turning on you?"

"I'm surprised to hear you call him that," she said quietly as the car slowed to a stop in front of her apartment building. "I realize that you don't particularly like him, but at the same time . . . ." Her eyes went to him in thinly-veiled guilt. "The word 'murderer' might have a slightly different connotation for us."

Roy nodded grimly, staring at the steering wheel. "You're right . . . . Sorry — I hadn't considered that." He leaned his head back, eyes falling half-closed. "I guess what's done is done," he continued. "We've got ourselves a new source and possible ally . . . it's time to check on the information he gave us and see what we can add to it on our own."

His head turned in her direction, mouth twitching into a small smile. "But we'll leave that until the morning. You want me to walk up with you?"

"I'll be all right." Lips holding a smile of her own, Riza opened the door. "I doubt there are any others lying in wait for me between here and my apartment."

"Hey, you never know." He shrugged at the look she shot back over her shoulder. "I'm just saying — anything's possible, right?"

"I'm sure I'll be fine," she answered dryly. Pausing on the curb, she leaned down to look him in the eye. "Go home, Colonel; get some sleep. I get the feeling you're going to need it."

The car door closed, and Roy waited until she was safely inside her building before putting the vehicle in gear and pulling out onto the street again. Driving home through the night-time city, the streetlights casting his face in sharp relief every few seconds, he began planning.

As he'd said, there was work to be done in the morning.

* * *

_This past week, I had a record number of reviews, new followers, and new favourites. 10 reviews, five follows, and four favourites. New challenge, everyone: beat those numbers! Recommend to your friends; be PROUD that you're an otaku!_


	21. Repentance and Confession

****_A/N: I've mentioned that I've been re-reading the FMA manga in what spare time I have for such things; I just passed this spot in Volume 10. It still gets my heart racing, and not just because it involves Halfway-Shirtless-and-Incredibly-Pissed-Off!Roy being awesome. Arakawa is an extremely gifted writer and artist, and the way it's drawn just pulls me right in._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Twenty-one - Repentance/Confession**

_"I have a favour to ask of you, Mr. Mustang." Her voice was quiet, her eyes still on the mound of gravel that obscured the body of some unfortunate Ishvalan child. But the words themselves were firm; determined. "My back. I want you to burn it beyond recognition."_

_His eyes went wide. "What?!" How could she sit there, and say something like that so calmly? "I could never do such a thing!" After all the pain he'd already caused in this war, she wanted him to hurt her, too?_

_"You have to!" Her posture, already slouched in fatigue, leaned forward as she pressed her hands to the ground; he could see her shoulders shaking as she fought to keep herself under control. "If I can't repent, then the least I can do is prevent the creation of another Flame Alchemist. I want the secret that's written on my back to become illegible."_

* * *

With a short, gasping inhale, Riza's eyes snapped open from the dream. For a moment, panic suffused her chest as a wall of white met her vision and pressed against her nose and mouth; belatedly, she realized she was face-down in the pillow. Turning her head, she squinted in the room's bright light.

"Hey," a nearby voice said softly. Her eyes adjusted slowly, bringing the familiar tousle-haired figure of Roy Mustang into focus. His expression was unreadable as he crouched beside the bed. "How do you feel?"

Carefully, Riza brought her arms up alongside her chest and pushed experimentally. Muscles across her shoulders and mid-back protested, causing her to grit her teeth. His second visit to her in the hospital, a week since he'd performed her so-called 'favour,' and it still hurt, but she didn't care.

Roy reached out, supporting her as she worked at sitting up. "I guess I have my answer . . . ."

Shooting him a glare, Riza finally sat upright, her shoulders straight and back to ease the pull on the still-healing burns. "Get that look off your face, Mr. Mustang. You know as well as I do that I asked for this," she said, voice soft and low, but no less stern.

"Whether you asked for it or not, I still agreed to it," he snapped back. "Unlike you, I'm not so sure the ends justifies the means!"

"With all due respect, sir, would you rather see one person in pain or watch a potential maniac unleash Hell on an innocent population?" She glared up at him through the blonde curtain of her bangs. "You can't expect me to believe you'd choose the latter."

He returned the look. "And will putting yourself through that kind of Hell make the fact you gave me this power go away? That's what your guilt is really about, isn't it! Because if you hadn't decided to trust me, then I would still be an ordinary soldier."

Hot tears pricked at Riza's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "Exactly," she said quietly. "I was just as naïve as you were. Maybe more so, because I made the choice to entrust you with such a deadly secret. I assisted in the slaughter of the Ishvalan people not just as a sharpshooter, but as the source of Flame Alchemy. That, if nothing else, is something I can never atone for."

Roy stared at her for a moment, then sat down beside her. "On the technical level, you're right. But there are some things you're forgetting to factor in. How many lives have you saved with your shooting? Start counting with me and Hughes, see how far you can go. Add to that how many times I was able to save myself or someone else with Flame Alchemy." He looked sideways at her to gauge her reaction.

"And don't forget, you might have given me a very powerful tool of destruction, but you also gave me a tool to rebuild this country when I stand at the top of the rats' nest."

She became very still, then. After a long moment, she said, "You still have your dream, even after everything you've seen?"

"The only way to truly prevent another Ishval is to turn this country away from military dictatorship," he said, keeping his voice low. This was a military hospital, after all. "It has to be a democracy, we have to negotiate proper treaties with the surrounding superpowers. When we do, then I'll feel like I've paid for what I've done."

Her head turned slightly toward him. ". . . . Do you realize where you'd be for most of that, though? Once you turn power over to Parliament, you'll be branded a war criminal, tried, and imprisoned or executed."

"I told you that I could wind up dead in a ditch somewhere," he sat flatly. "If I end up an old man in a prison cell because of what I've done, then so be it. Consider it part of my duty, for surviving Ishval." Getting to his feet, he picked up his coat from the back of the visitor's chair. "My train for East City is leaving in an hour; I have to go. Are you going to be all right?"

Riza was watching him with an odd expression somewhere between shock and respect. ". . . I'll be fine, sir." She lifted her right hand to her forehead in salute, the proper forty-five degree angle off slightly due to her still-healing back. "Thank you, Major. You've given me a lot to think about."

"Get well soon," he said, giving a brief wave as he headed for the door.

". . . Roy?" Her voice stopped him just as he stepped out into the hall; he turned back to find her still watching him, this time with just the hint of a smile. "It's still a wonderful dream. Don't get killed."

He returned the smile. "I told you before, don't jinx me."

* * *

She sat beside him in the ambulance as it rushed away from the Third Laboratory, one hand holding a wide gauze pad to his side, the other stroking his forehead in a motion she hoped was soothing. Goodness knew she didn't feel very soothed right now, but she had to keep it together. Her lower lip had been clamped firmly between her teeth for the past ten minutes in an effort to stay calm.

"Hey, Hawkeye — crap, you're bleeding too." His eyes were on her face, wide in concern. "What happened; someone punch you in the mouth?"

Blinking back to reality, Riza touched her fingers to her lips; they came away with a thin trickle of blood. She wiped it off on her pantleg; what was a little more blood at this point? ". . . No, sir. I'm sorry, I guess I must have bit my lip a little too hard."

"Worrying again," Roy said with a faint smile, closing his eyes. "You heard the guy who took a look at me. Most of the bleeding was stopped in time, so I'm going to be okay."

Her heart skipped. "Sir, I'd feel much better if you'd keep your eyes open."

He obliged, but the smile disappeared into a frown. "Hawkeye, it's okay. I know you don't like to see me get hurt — tell you the truth, I'm not crazy about it either — but they said I'll be fine." His hand fumbled for a minute before it found hers. "This isn't your fault, I swear."

"Oh really? Who was the one who suggested splitting up?" she snapped. "Who went with Alphonse instead of you?"

Roy shook his head. "You know as well as I do that if Havoc had gone with Alphonse, they'd both be dead right now. You and I were the two most experienced people down there, and each team needed one person like that." He squeezed her hand. "I don't blame any of this on you."

They were silent for a moment, the only sound being that of the vehicle, and its sirens as it tore through the streets. At last, Roy said, "You scared me too, you know."

"How so?"

"You should have seen the look on your face when Al finally let you out from behind the wall." His eyes were steady on her face, watching for her reaction. "I don't think I've ever seen you look quite so . . . panicked."

"I don't think I've ever seen you look quite so wounded," Riza answered evenly, staring at the patch she held to his side. His fingers tightened on hers; when she looked him in the eye, his gaze was angry.

"Riza Hawkeye, don't you dare lie to me," he growled. "Something else went on down there; I heard the shots. So stop trying to protect me from every damned little thing and tell me what the hell happened!"

For a moment, she seriously contemplated keeping her mouth shut about the entire incident . . . until she looked him in the eye again. How had he described Edward's look the first time they met him . . . 'eyes that burned like fire.' Riza felt her shoulders drop out of their normal posture as she gave up the internal struggle. "That Homonculus . . . . She said she'd killed you. She really believed she had, I could see it in her expression. All I could think of was that she had no right to take you away and that I was going to make her pay."

She kept eye contact as she spoke, and watched his anger fade to surprise. "The next thing I knew, every bullet I had was spent, and she was healing up again. I gave up. If she had already killed you, then I'd failed in keeping you safe, and the only thing left was for me to join you."

The engine noise quieted as the ambulance slowed, then stopped; outside, shouting voices and running footsteps approached. Riza looked away, back to the patch held in her left hand; Roy moved his hand from hers, reaching up to turn her face back toward him.

"We'll talk about this later," he said seriously. "I'm not through with you yet."

"I didn't expect you to be."

"But I'll tell you one thing." He pulled her close, lowering his voice. "If, all those years ago, you hadn't shared your father's secret with me, both Havoc and I would be dead right now. You remember that if you feel like giving up again."

* * *

_A/N: There needs to be a 'Share' button on here, for Facebook, or Twitter, or tumblr, or what have you._


	22. God

_A/N: Who deserves some Child!Royza?_**  
**

_Yoooooou dooooooo. : )_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Twenty-two - God**

Only two weeks into his training, and they already had a secret meeting place. Earlier that week, she'd shown him a spot she liked to visit to get away from the house when Master Hawkeye was working on his research. Behind the house, there was a path through thick forest that wound along for nearly three hundred metres. The dirt was soft and loose, almost sandy, and in amongst the trees, it was cool even on a hot summer day. At the path's end, there was a clearing with a deep stream and any number of large rocks, open to the sunlight through a break in the canopy. It was a combination of hideaway, relaxation spot, and swimming hole that Riza had never shared with anyone except him. She'd told him so.

She was already there and waiting for him by the time he reached the end of the path.

Looking over from where she sat on a sun-drenched rock, she smiled as a he lifted a hand in a wave. "Hello, Mr. Mustang."

He rolled his eyes. "I already told you, you can just call me Roy. It's not like your dad's around to care, right?" He began jumping from rock to rock to reach the one she occupied as she moved one shoulder in a shrug. "Besides, I'm not that much older than you. You calling me 'mister' is just weird."

"Maybe_ you're_ weird, wanting to learn alchemy from my father," she countered. She had her knees hugged to her chest, her hands clasped in front of her ankles. She was dressed in dark gray pants that were cut off at the knee, and a red, short-sleeved shirt. With her short hair, she seemed more boyish than usual, except for the definite female qualities of her facial features, and her petite hands and feet.

Dropping down beside her, Roy snorted. "Yeah, maybe. Maybe we'll just have to be weird together."

She gave him a sidelong glance. "We meaning you and me, or you and Father?"

Leaning back on his elbows, soaking up the warmth from the sun, Roy pondered that. "Could be either one, I guess." He returned her glance. "You think your dad is weird?"

Riza shrugged again. "Sometimes . . . when he gets working hard, he acts . . . strange. I try to tell him to sleep or eat, but he doesn't hear me at all. He just keeps working." She stood, moving to the edge of the rock. "He goes back to normal after a while, but it's still scary."

Roy watched her slip into the water, using the side of the rock for leverage. He wasn't crazy about getting wet like that; he was just content to sit and keep an eye on her while she had her fun. "I'm sure he means well. He's just very . . . dedicated."

"I guess you can call it that." Treading water, she looked up at him. "How are your studies going so far?"

It was his turn to shrug. "As well as can be expected. Most of the material he gives me now, I've studied on my own before. It's like he's . . . testing me. Seeing just how smart I am before he lets me continue."

"Oh, he's testing you all right," Riza said dryly. Changing position in the water, she began swimming off along the stream. "But he's not testing your smarts; he's seeing how trustworthy you are."

". . . Trustworthy?" Abruptly, he realized that she wasn't about to turn and come back toward him, and Roy shot to his feet. "Hey, wait!" He took off again from rock to rock, until he caught up with her. "Why does he want to know how trustworthy I am?"

Still swimming sedately, Riza didn't look up at him. "You can't figure it out?" When Roy didn't answer, she stopped, reaching out the grasp the edge of the rock he stood on. Folding her arms on top of it, she looked up at him. "Why do you want to learn alchemy?"

He blinked at the sudden change of topic, then settled down cross-legged in front of her. "Alchemy has a huge potential to help people," he said. "Whether it's medical, or repairs, or whatever. I want to use it to help as many people as possible . . . the entire country if I can."

". . . . You have a god complex, don't you."

Roy stared. Normally, when he gave his answer to the 'why learn alchemy' question, he was met with laughter or disbelieving looks. At worst, a scolding about his unrealistic dreams. But never had anyone responded the way Riza did.

"A . . . I do not!"

"Oh, really?" She smirked. "Do you believe there is any other 'right' way to use alchemy?"

". . . No." He felt slightly suspicious; she was trying to maneuver him into a trap of some kind. "'Alchemist, be thou for the people.' We're supposed to use our abilities for the benefit of the public."

"And in your dream of helping the entire country, do you think you'll mess up? Do you think you'll fail?"

Roy's eyes narrowed. "I can't fail. It's not an option."

That annoying little smirk was still playing around her mouth. "And you're fighting me on this because you absolutely have to be right, no matter what." Shaking her head, Riza pushed off from the rock, floating on her back with a self-satisfied look. "All of that: classic god complex."

Scowling, Roy folded his arms. "How does a god complex tie in with me being trustworthy?"

Riza's smile vanished. "It doesn't. But your outlook on the use of alchemy . . . that does. Father won't take you beyond basics if he thinks you'll misuse what he teaches you. He said so, before you started."

"I see . . . ." Frowning in thought, Roy processed that for a moment. "So how do I convince him that he can trust me?"

"Don't turn away from any challenge," was the immediate answer. She'd clearly thought this out already. "If it's a choice between taking his word for it and doing the math, do the math, because it's likely a test. Do the best you can on any task he gives you; knowledge is important too. And above all, don't talk back. He hates that."

Both dark eyebrows lifted. "You know a lot about this."

Turning in the water, Riza pulled herself out onto a flat rock before looking at him again. "He's had other apprentices before you. He didn't think any of them were trustworthy enough. I'm just telling you not to do the same things they did that got them kicked out."

Getting to his feet, Roy dusted himself off. "Then, I guess, if I'm to make this work, I should head back and get down to it." He turned to start toward the path. "Thanks, Riza."

"Wait . . . Roy." He looked up. "There's one more thing. I wouldn't tell him about your dream just yet, if I were you. Father takes a very dim view of playing god."

Something told him that, once again, she was speaking from someone else's experience. ". . . I understand. Thanks again." Turning, he crossed the rocks, and headed up the dirt path to the house, already determined to prove his worth to Master Hawkeye. He had to learn alchemy, had to make his dream a reality. As he'd said, failure wasn't an option.

. . . Maybe he _did_ have a god complex.

* * *

_Before you leave for another week, my loves, I request a moment of silence for all those facing the looming horror of exams. For those of you who are, my support is behind you one hundred percent! Do your best!_


	23. Someone I Want to Protect

****_A/N: Welcome back! So excited tonight: there's literally nothing better than waking up and finding the world turned white with snow. If you disagree with that, you will smile, nod, and keep your 'this chick is crazy' thoughts to yourself or suffer the wrath of a snowball attack._

_Now you may think, with a title like "Someone I Want to Protect," it's Riza talking about her promise to Roy. Sure, I could write that. But don't forget: a promise like that is a two-way street._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Twenty-three - Someone I Want to Protect**

She quietly occupied one corner of the hospital room like absolutely nothing was wrong with her. Just from looking at her, no one would know she'd nearly had the life choked out of her, had visions of her worst nightmare flashing before her eyes, had his blood staining her clothes.

Roy knew. The steady ache in his side wouldn't let him forget.

He watched from his bed as she moved occasionally from place to place when the nurses or doctor came in. She was favouring one ankle just slightly, and the collar of her customary black shirt was snugged a little higher than usual. For the dozenth time, he caught his left hand tapping the sheets in agitation, and forced it to be still. Riza would only give him that deadpan look if he asked if she was all right, and they could hardly have the talk he wanted to have in front of Havoc. He would just have to wait for a better opportunity.

His chance came that night. Havoc had been dosed with painkillers that sent him straight to sleep, and the night nurse had just left, not to return for two hours. It was as good a time as any.

"Hey; Hawkeye?"

Standing in the doorway, watching the halls, she didn't look over. "Yes, sir?"

"We need to talk."

Suddenly becoming very still, Riza kept her eyes out the door, though they no longer tracked along in search of any kind of threat. Her shoulders tensed, just noticeably. ". . . . What about?"

"Don't give me that, you know damn well what about," Roy growled. He leaned back against the pillows, arms folded as he shot her a scowl. "You can't fool me, Hawkeye."

Finally, she turned to look at him, a hint of combativeness lurking in that deliberately blank gaze. "I'm not trying to fool you, sir. I'm just not fond of walking around with people staring at me."

His eyes narrowed. "They're that visible?"

Riza looked away, a sign she was done talking. "Visible enough."

Roy wasn't done. Not by a long shot. He shifted to sit a little straighter, moving his legs over so there was space on the side of the bed. "Come here."

She looked over and assessed his new position with a wary look. "Sir, I don't think that —"

His voice dropped to a warning tone; he had already yelled at her once today, and he didn't want to have to raise his voice again. "Lieutenant . . . ."

With a steady glare, she crossed the room and settled onto the edge of the mattress. Ignoring the look, Roy reached out and past the stiff collar of her uniform jacket to the softer black underneath. Pulling it away from her neck, he felt his jaw clench at the sight.

Dark bruises, stark against paler skin, were almost perfect circles. Two of them, aligned to either side of her trachea and four more on either side of her neck, made by hands that were clearly larger than a normal man's. Roy's eyes narrowed. That freak, Gluttony . . . . He supposed bruises were better than bite marks — bruises, at least, would heal — but the thought of someone touching her like that . . . .

He let his hand drop back to his side, clamping down firmly on his anger. "And your ankle?"

"I rolled it when he dropped me," she answered flatly, reaching up to adjust the collars of both shirt and jacket. "It will be fine by tomorrow."

"Good." He paused, looking at her for a moment, then said, "Any other injuries I should know about?"

"No, sir."

Roy put a hand on her arm as she made to stand, and leaned forward. "And you wouldn't tell me if there were."

Looking up, seemingly infinite patience growing visibly strained, Riza simply said, "You haven't let me see your wounds, yet. If it's that bad, then I would say you have bigger things to worry about."

"That doesn't mean I can't worry about the people I work with," he shot back. "I don't care what you say, you're not insignificant. Not to me. After what happened to Hughes, I'm sure as hell not going to just stand around and let any of you go down . . . least of all you." He paused, then sighed; Riza waited, knowing he wasn't finished. When he spoke again, he just sounded tired. "Look, Riza . . . . You've sworn to watch out for me . . . let me repay the favour once in a while. There's still going to be times when someone has to protect you. I want it to be me."

Finally, she smiled, and reached over to put on hand on his knee. "Understood."

* * *

_Sharing is caring! Tell one of your friends about Snap Shots!_


	24. Not There

_A/N: I was so surprised at the number of people who have been clamouring to know what happens in the trial. Rest easy, my dears, the end of your suffering is in sight. This is not the final chapter of this little arc, but it will at least put some fears to bed. Enjoy!_

_Also, I would like to welcome all the new reviewers, followers and fave-ers that have joined us in the past little while! This is absolutely a case of 'the more, the merrier.'_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Twenty-four - 'Not there'**

"What were those papers you submitted?" Roy demanded, glaring at the man in front of him. "How are they supposed to help Hawkeye's case?"

"Settle down, will you?" Maes' voice was calm and relaxed, though his eyes glanced watchfully around the front steps of the courthouse. "People are going to stare if you keep up this snappish attitude. No girl is going to go for it, either." His gaze came back to Roy as a low growl escaped the other's throat. "Whoa, take it easy."

"My Lieutenant is on trial right now, and I have no idea what's going on! How am I supposed to take it easy?" Roy's hands curled into fists. "Are you going to tell me, or not?"

Maes tilted his head back toward the main entrance. "It's like I said in there — I got hit with a gag order. I'm sorry."

"Oh, great," Roy snapped. "You too, now? Everyone seems bound and determined to keep me out of the loop on this!" He dropped his volume. "So much for supporting me, Hughes. Thanks a lot."

Turning on his heel, he stormed off. Maes was left to heave a quiet sigh and follow at a distance.

* * *

"All rise."

The occupants of the courtroom rose respectfully to their feet as the judge entered and assumed his seat behind the bench. "Be seated." Waiting until the last chair stopped scraping along the floor, the judge regarded both the prosecution and defense tables. "Well. I can certainly say that this is one of the most interesting cases I've ever presided over.

"First Lieutenant Hawkeye. You have yet to make your testimony public, do you not? No one as been told, except your attorney and Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes?"

Riza's voice was clear in the hushed room. "That's correct, Your Honour."

"And have you seen the documents that were presented to the prosecution and myself by Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes?"

"No, sir, I have not. They were presented to my attorney, but not to me."

"Very well." Leaning back in his chair, the judge steepled his fingers in front of his chin. "Then I would be very interested to hear your testimony, Lieutenant. As confirmation of the documents' contents."

Roy shifted as he watched Riza get to her feet. Adopting the at-ease position, she took a deep breath. "The day prior to the incident, I was contacted and asked to make a delivery for the military the following day."

"Who contacted you?" the judge asked, frowning.

"I'm not at liberty to say, Your Honour. I was instructed not to say under any circumstances; but it was a direct order from a superior."

"So anyone ranked Major or higher." The judge nodded. "Very well; carry on."

"I left Colonel Mustang's office at 13:30, having notified him that I was running an errand. I was to deliver a package of industrial-grade diamonds to a military subcontractor." The judge took a breath to ask another question, but she pressed on. "Before you can ask, Your Honour, I have been briefed on the diamonds' use. The ones I delivered had been alchemised rather than mined; they were to be part of a comparison test to see which was better."

"This is fascinating, Lieutenant," the prosecution jumped in. "But I fail to see how delivering diamonds for a superior officer results in your being sworn to secrecy about said superior. It makes me think you're trying to protect someone."

For the first time, Riza showed her irritation with the man. Not bothering to look at him, she let her tone of voice cool noticeably. "I'm a soldier, Counsellor. I follow the orders I'm given to the best of my ability."

"And if your loyalties to a certain officer are stronger than those to another?" The prosecutor's voice was acidic; Roy resisted the urge to stand up and slug the man. "Suppose that both Colonel Mustang and another officer gave you orders; you'd be more inclined to follow Mustang's would you not?"

"As he is my commanding officer, yes. Any other order would rely on his permission, or my own judgement."

"Say that, for the sake of argument, what would you choose? What do you think?"

At last, she turned to stare at him, brown eyes narrowed. "I_ think_ you're being argumentative, Counsellor."

"Objection," the defense lawyer broke in, seeming to have shaken himself out of a fog. He'd been watching the exchange in something akin to puzzlement. "Counsel is also badgering."

"Sustained . . . on both counts," the judge ruled. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, you may resume your testimony."

Turning her gaze away from the prosecutor, Riza became all business once again. "I made the delivery at 13:50. I walked in, gave the contractor his diamonds, and left again. I returned to the office at 14:10."

The judge nodded once. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Will defense counsel please rise?" As the lawyer stood, the judge folded his hands on the bench, leaning on his elbows. "As I said, this is one of the most interesting cases I've ever presided over. Lieutenant, you're a very lucky woman — without those documents presented by Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes, I would have no choice but to sentence you to prison.

"However, in light of the evidence brought forward, I've revised my judgement." His eyes narrowed at the prosecutor. "I don't know where you learned to practice law, Counsellor, but I would certainly recommend a refresher course in investigation tactics. This was downright sloppy." He brought forward the folder of documents, laying them out one by one. "A copy of Lieutenant Hawkeye's testimony, courtesy of Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes. A statement from the military contractor who took possession of the alchemised diamonds saying she was at his place of business during the time the robbery took place. A copy of the written order for the delivery to be made by the Lieutenant, and a record of delivery submitted by her to the main Administration department in Central."

Roy sat up a little straighter, paying close attention. A little wriggle of hope started in his chest; maybe he wouldn't have to see Riza marched off in handcuffs again after all . . . .

The prosecutor was doing his best to look both properly chagrined and dignified at the same time. "If you don't mind my asking, Your Honour, who's name is signed to the order for delivery?"

"There isn't one." The judge spread his hands, leaning back in his chair. "I called Central to get verification of the order; they transferred me to the person who gave it. He confirmed that it was real, and that his name had been left off these copies for security reasons." His eyes narrowed. "And I would advise you, Counsellor, to quit while you're ahead. Another question from you, and I will have you removed from my courtroom. Understood?"

His gaze went to Riza. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, it is confirmed that you were not at Luxury Jewels when it was held up, nor are you guilty of any of the charges against you. All charges are dismissed, as is this court." The gavel banged once, and it was over.

Roy got to his feet, collecting his overcoat from the chair next to him. He needed to talk to Riza, whether it was congratulations or an apology. Or asking her why she'd gone to Maes and not him. Or why she'd been chosen to make the delivery. Or —

"See? She told you not to worry, and everything turned out okay." The voice of the man in question sounded from behind him. Roy paused, then turned to face him. Maes wasn't smiling. "Roy, she only called me because I have strings I can pull in the legal field, and you don't. She needed someone to talk to, and it ended up being me, because if you got tangled up in this . . . well, if it didn't turn out well, then she'd drag you down with her." The eyebrows over his glasses lifted. "You of all people know what something like that would do to her."

"You're right." Slipping a sidelong glance across to where Riza was talking with her lawyer, Roy grimaced. "I'm sorry for what I said outside. Thanks for helping her out."

"Hey, don't sweat it; everyone says stuff they don't mean when they're mad." Maes grinned. "Besides, she's got the best shot at keeping you alive, no pun intended. If I support her, I support you, right?"

"Right." Clapping his friend on the shoulder, Roy smirked. "Now get out of here. Go back to your wife and kid in Central."

"Okay, okay, I'm going. But, really, Roy . . . ." Already backing away, Maes took the time to hiss "Get yourself a wife!" before turning and making a beeline for the door.

Roy sighed, and glanced toward Riza again. She was still occupied, so he turned toward the door. At last it was over . . . and he still had questions he wanted answered. He was still irritated that she'd gone to Maes, had someone higher up the chain of command jerking her around, and kept him out of it. All to protect him?

Shaking his head, he started toward the exit. One day, and soon, he thought darkly, Riza would tell him everything.

* * *

_So she's off the hook! Yaaaaaaaay!  
_

_. . . Oh COME ON. You didn't think I was going to send Riza to jail, did you? Though a Riza Hawkeye-style jailbreak would be **spectacular.**  
_

_Oh well. Another time, another place. Don't forget to review, fave, or follow!_


	25. So I'm Crying

_A/N: Well, the inevitable finally happened. I joined tumblr. Should any of you have an account and wish to follow me, I will be happy to give you my blog address in a personal message; drop me a line and let me know! Please be advised that I shall be following you in return. Because we should all be buddies in fandomness._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Twenty-five - "So I'm crying"**

It was totally silent, and dark. At first, he wasn't even aware that he was lying on his side. There was just pressure on his left arm, and his elbow was digging into his own ribs. His hip felt like it was being ground onto a blunt rock, and somebody was sprinkling water on his face.

His hearing began to return as consciousness seeped in. He was, in fact, lying on his side, and a hand was gripping the material of his right sleeve. Another hand, shaking, was stroking his hair.

". . . . not like this . . . not ever . . . . Colonel, please, you can't be . . . . Open your eyes, come on . . . ." Silence, for all of two heartbeats. "Dammit, Roy, I said WAKE — UP!"

A solid fist connected with his arm, bony knuckles digging into the tissue. Involuntarily, Roy felt his eyes pop open in the same instant as he yelled "OW!"

Rolling onto his back, left hand rubbing at the offended spot, he glared at Riza. "What was that for?!"

Her eyes were wide; one hand was half-raised defensively in front of her, the other braced against the ground. His outburst had apparently caught her by surprise. "I . . . I'm sorry, sir. I was . . . you were unconscious, I was trying to wake you."

Unconscious . . . why had he been unconscious? Oh . . . .

Sitting up, Roy looked around for the car. It was sitting twenty feet away, a tangled mass of totalled engine, burst tires, and crumpled frame. Rain - what he'd felt on his face earlier - was collecting in an impressive set of dings and dents in the metal.

He looked back to Riza . . . and paused. When she punched him, she'd used his given name. In public. That only ever meant one thing: she was upset enough to lose track of their personal rules for addressing each other. And with the expression she currently wore . . . . "Lieutenant, are you all right?"

Dropping her hand hastily away from her face, knowing full well she'd been caught in the act of wiping her eyes, Riza's usual mask of perfect composure asserted itself. "Just fine, sir. You should be more worried about yourself."

"Liar." Shifting position, he faced her. "You were crying."

She looked him in the eye, not missing a beat. "It's raining."

Roy had to admit, that she was quick on her mental feet. To be able to remember that excuse and throw it back at him, while it was actually raining, nonetheless . . . . But that didn't matter. He didn't plan on letting her away with it.

"Very observant of you, Lieutenant. However, that's not going to fly this time." Reaching out, he swiped a fingertip against one of the tracks of moisture on her face. Some were rain, sure, but he knew others to be more than that. "Tell me — if I put this in my mouth right now, I would taste salt, wouldn't I?"

She didn't answer, merely turned her gaze away toward the wrecked car.

"What were you crying for, Riza?"

"All right!" Brown eyes swung back to him, angry now. "So I was crying. In case you didn't notice, Colonel, I had to drag you out of that car. You weren't moving, you were barely breathing, and your —" Her voice caught, and she swallowed hard. "Your pulse was . . . was hard to find. I thought you must have hit your head in the collision."

"You thought you'd lost me," Roy mused, studying her almost curiously. "Scary feeling."

She nodded once. "Terrifying."

Roy got to his feet, offering a hand to help her do the same. She accepted, and he pulled her up, continuing the motion to draw her close. His free arm rose to her shoulders in a hug. "Don't worry; I'm not going anywhere yet. There's still a lot to do, and I'll still need help."

Her hand squeezed his.

* * *

_PS - Am I the only one who couldn't watch Falman cry? I just . . . I just couldn't. He was so . . . . I just wanted to grab him and give him the biggest hug possible. Though that might break his skinny little spine; seriously, the dude is a toothpick._


	26. Cureless

_A/N: You guys, there are NINE DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS. :D Check my profile on December 25th for a special Christmas Royza fic!_**  
**

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Twenty-six - Cureless**

She watched him as he eased his way into the car's back seat, trying not to let the concern show on her face. He shouldn't even be out of the hospital yet, much less back in uniform and returning to active duty. But when he'd asked for his uniform, he'd given her 'the look,' the one that said there would be no dissuading him.

Roy shut the door, and Riza got a good look at the side of his face. His jaw was obviously clenched, the skin paler than it should have been. If there had been any doubt in her mind that he was in pain, there was no question now.

His eyes glanced her way, and stayed there. "Get that look off your face, Lieutenant."

"I'm sorry, sir." She started the engine, shoulder-checked, then pulled out into the street. With no one else around to hear her, she added, "Can you really blame me for worrying? You know how I feel about this."

"Duly noted, but it's a little late in the game to back out now." Roy folded his arms, staring out the front window. "I always finish what I start, and right now, there's work to do. I'm not about to leave it to someone else."

Riza gave him a sidelong look in the rearview mirror. "Will you at least accept someone else's help with it? I don't want you trying to do something this big on your own, and not have support if it goes wrong."

At last, he smiled, just a little. "What a question, asking if you can come along for the ride. Like I would leave you behind." They lapsed into silence, each with their own thoughts.

"Are we going anywhere in particular?" Riza asked, after a long moment.

"We need to get ahold of the Elric brothers," he answered firmly. "I want to make sure we're all still on the same page. The trouble is finding them in the first place, and then getting Edward to hold still for more than ten seconds." Roy winced as the car drove over a bump in the road, the movement jostling his side; he shifted to a more comfortable position. "When I know everything that _he_ knows, then I'll have a better idea how to proceed with the situation."

"I see."

He glanced across at her, one eyebrow lifted. "Is something still bothering you?"

Her hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. "This is all getting very . . . self-destructive. First, you check out of the hospital before you're even close to being ready, and now you're focussed on getting to the bottom of this latest development. I don't suppose it's occurred to you that everything we've uncovered so far could be dangerous if we pursue it? Not to mention, we know that members of the military high command might be involved; if they decide we're a liability, it won't be hard for them to cut us off."

Still watching her, now almost thoughtfully, Roy said, "And the thought of losing your career has you worried?"

"It's not about losing my career; it's about losing _you_." After a second of hesitation, Riza pulled the car over, parking along the curb; driving while having this discussion was probably not a good idea. "You're going at this with the same single-minded drive my father used to have about his research. That's _one_ thing that scares me. The other is that a few days ago, I really did almost lose you, and I'll do anything to stop that from happening again."

He was quiet, watching the way she kept her eyes averted from him, and her expression under rigid control. But no matter how impassive she might seem now, her eyes said that she really _was_ afraid that this situation would eat him alive.

"Riza, look at me." Waiting until she turned to face him, Roy made sure to keep eye contact. "I told you not to give up; if I do that now, how can I expect you to keep going in the future? I'll be the first to admit that we're treading on dangerous ground now, but if we back out, then Havoc has been paralyzed and Hughes has been killed, both for nothing. You can't sit there and tell me you don't want justice for them.

"I can't change who I am, and right now, every part of me is saying to get to the bottom of this whole mess. If that's self-destructive, then so be it, but I'm going to make damn sure that I take _them_ down first."

She gazed at him steadily for another moment before saying, "So this is some sort of disease. With no cure."

"No cure. But there is a way to keep it under control, even render it dormant." At last, Roy cracked a smile. "And that's by you staying with me, and making sure I keep a level head." The smile faded. "I won't lie and say it might not be like Hell farther down the road."

Riza gave him a grim smile before turning and putting the car into gear again. "Then it's a good thing I said I'd follow you there." Discussion over, she pulled away from the curb for a second time. There was work to do.

* * *

_I got nothin', you guys, no witty end-of-oneshot comments. You all know what to do: review, fave, follow, in any order or combination thereof. Love ya. ^^_


	27. Dependency

_A/N: It's that time of year again. Whatever holiday you celebrate, I wish you the happiest and safest one possible. Don't forget to check my profile on Christmas Day, when I upload a brand-new holiday oneshot starring our favourite secret couple!_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Twenty-seven - Dependency**

He trudged through the door into the office, awake, but only just. "Really need to talk to someone about a first-floor office," he muttered. "Three flights of stairs first thing in the morning . . . that's just ridiculous."

Havoc looked up from closing a desk drawer on his carton of cigarettes. "Good morning to you too, Chief," he said dryly.

"Morning," Roy yawned. "Is she in yet?"

"Waiting in your office, as usual," the sandy-haired man answered, jerking a thumb toward the room's other door. "Better not let her see you acting like the walking dead."

"Yeah, yeah." Standing straight, and doing his level best to fake some sort of alertness, Roy took a deep breath and pushed through the door into the next room.

Riza didn't look up as he entered; she was standing by the window with an open file folder, reading its contents as she waited. A nondescript white mug sat on the corner of the desk, filled with dark coffee that still sent steam curling into the air. His eyes, focussed at first on his Lieutenant, went to the mug and widened.

He picked up his pace, crossing the floor in five strides, and scooped up the mug, inhaling in relief. "I swear – if there's one thing in the world that can substitute a human soul, it's coffee." Sinking into his chair, he took a sip, cautious of the heat.

"I wouldn't tell that to Edward and Alphonse if I were you," Riza answered mildly, turning and moving toward the desk. Setting the open file down, she slid it toward him. "Here's your agenda for this morning."

Leaning forward, looking down at the schedule in front of him, he frowned. He set the mug aside, coffee temporarily forgotten. "Internal Affairs at ten a.m.? What do they want?"

"The memo they sent yesterday wasn't very clear," Riza said. "But there was damage done to a store on Third Street, and according to Internal Affairs, it's either you or Edward that is responsible. That would have been from when he was here last week."

"Last week . . . ." He sat back in the chair, rubbing absent-mindedly at his chin as he thought back. "I know he said something about defending himself from a mugger, but there wasn't anything about damage to property."

"Edward _does_ tend to downplay events like that, especially if he's talking to you," Riza answered. "Fortunately, I spoke to Alphonse about it; according to him, Edward was using alchemy against his attacker, and accidentally hit the wall of the store instead of his target. The hole was estimated to be at least a metre and a half in diameter."

Shaking his head with a smile, Roy folded his arms. "He wasn't pulling punches, then."

"No, he wasn't. And since you're his commanding officer, you have a share in the blame." She pulled another piece of paper from underneath his agenda, and held it out to him. "This is a bill for damages from the storeowner. So far, he hasn't threatened to sue, but if we delay for very long, then —"

"Bill for _what?!_" He scanned the document in question, then groaned. "Please tell me that we actually have money in the budget for this?"

"We do; if you recall, we altered the budget six months ago to set money aside for just this sort of situation, when we realized how often Edward gets into this sort of scrape. Fuery will have the paperwork for allocation of funds on your desk by oh-nine-thirty," Riza assured him. She folded her hands behind her back. "Until then, the only thing you need to do is fill out the daily report."

He tossed her a grin. "What would I do without you?"

"Be hopelessly lost, completely inefficient, and most likely dead, sir," she answered, with just a ghost of a smile.

Pausing to consider that, he tilted his head to one side. ". . . . Hmm. You're probably right." Picking up his coffee again, he settled back in his chair, dark eyes giving her a meaningful look. "Don't let anything happen to yourself, Lieutenant. We depend on you."

Her smile widened ever so slightly. "The same to you, sir."

* * *

_Sugar cyber-cookies to ever reviewer, follower, and fave-er! You know I love you. ^^_


	28. Pain and Wounds

_A/N: Hope that everyone had a great holiday — I am totally ready to go back to school now. I need classes, structure, my friend to bounce Royza fic ideas off of . . . . Texting/MSN just doesn't cut it. For now though, my lovelies, here's your weekly chapter. Oh my gosh, it's set in Ishval and it doesn't make you as depressed as usual. A miracle._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Twenty-eight** - **Pain and Wounds**

"For the last time, I'm fine!"

The medic stood back nervously as a severely annoyed Major Roy Mustang got to his feet. "I . . . I don't mean to be insubordinate, sir, but you're really not. Those injuries needs to be taken care of, or they could —"

Tired dark eyes turned on the hapless younger man. "Look. If I say I'm fine, then I'm fine. You can take my word for it, _Sergeant_, and leave it at that, am I understood?"

"But, sir —"

"If you don't mind, Sergeant, I can take it from here," a new voice cut in. Both men turned toward the tent's entrance and the figure that had appeared there. Riza stepped inside and the medic's eyes went to the rifle slung over her shoulder.; any protest he might have had evaporated at the sight of the weapon.

". . . Sure. Okay." Collecting his uniform jacket, he left hurriedly.

Silence held between them; Roy was simmering quietly, glaring at the blank-faced woman in front of him. She calmly gave him a once-over, then said, "Looks like you did quite a number on yourself."

"It wasn't my fault," he growled, sinking back onto the low bench where he'd been before. "Kimblee got a little too crazy with the bombs this morning. That guy doesn't care who he blows up, so long as something goes 'boom.'"

"I see." Shrugging off the rifle, she leaned it against the bench as she crouched. Her anonymous tan overcoat draped around her, brushing the ground. "That explains how your uniform got scorched . . . what happened to your hands?"

Roy looked down at his palms, and the angry red skin covering them. A few pale blisters were already starting to swell up. They hadn't looked like this since his first few disastrous attempts at flame alchemy. He scowled at the burns. "One of the bombs went off right behind me, about half a second before I snapped. The shockwave knocked me forward, almost right into my own flame."

Riza was already digging through the medic's bag of supplies, hunting for something useful. "Father always said playing with fire was dangerous . . ." she said absently. Roy rolled his eyes at her sarcasm.

Pulling a small, squat jar from the bag, the brown-eyed blonde briefly scanned the label, then set to work unscrewing the cap. "Hold your hands out, sir."

He eyed the jar suspiciously. "What is that stuff?"

"I have no idea, but the label says it's for the treatment of skin irritations such as severe rashes or first- and second-degree burns." She looked up. "Do you want to put it on yourself?"

Roy looked at the jar, then at his burned fingertips. ". . . . No, it's okay. You do it."

The pale cream she dabbed gently over his hands had an almost instantaneous soothing effect. The heat of the burns ebbed, taking a little of the pain with it. Roy almost sighed out loud in relief as Riza took his left hand in both of hers, carefully massaging the salve into the skin. He settled in to watch her work.

She switched to his right hand. "You won't be able to snap for a few days . . . you might have to resort to using alchemy the old-fashioned way."

"Or take a few days off from this hellhole," Roy muttered darkly. It was an empty dream. Bradley wasn't liable to let one of his prize alchemists leave the camp for anything more than a campaign, or a trip back to civilization in a body bag. Not after Armstrong's breakdown.

Riza wordlessly finished her ministrations and replaced the salve in the medic's bag before getting to her feet. "That should hold you for a while, Major. You were lucky to sustain only minor injuries."

"Tell me about it." He stood, and studied the blotchy red marks on his hands. No doubt Hughes would never let him hear the end of it . . . . "Remind me to set Kimblee's pants on fire the second I'm able to snap again."

"It should only be two or three days. I'll keep an eye out for a man with flaming trousers," she deadpanned. "You might also consider, sir, letting the medic tend to you the next time you're injured. One of these times, I might not have the time to help you, and you'll have to sit and suffer until I'm available."

"Hey, to get looked after by you, I'd wait however long I needed to."

Picking up her rifle and moving to the exit, Riza raised her hood . . . but not before Roy caught the ghost of a smile. "Watch what you say, Major. And please try to be careful in the future."

* * *

_Don't forget to review, guys. C'mon — one for the New Year!_


	29. Existence

****_A/N: All right, you layabouts, up off those couches, and back to school (if that's what you do, I don't know.) Don't you worry, though: just because classes have started again doesn't mean I won't be updating. Every Sunday night, folks, as usual! You have nothing to fear. Best of luck to all my fellow students!_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Twenty-nine - Existence**

He saw Fuery disappear under three large, angry men with a look of near panic before he stepped forward. He didn't get far as a fourth opponent appeared in front of him.

"Forget it, Soldier Boy," the man growled. "The kid's new. He's gotta be taught that you don't just walk in here in uniform. We don't _like_ your kind here."

Giving the man a steady look, Roy kept his expression neutral. "And I don't like your men roughing up members of my staff. Let Fuery go, and we'll leave; we know when we're not wanted."

Dirty, crooked teeth showed as the thug grinned nastily. "Aw, no, man. You're not leaving now." One hand gripped the front of Roy's shirt, the other pulling back in preparation for a punch. "In fact, you just earned yourself a place here along with your boy."

Pulling unsuccessfully, trying to get out of the way of the fist meant for his nose, Roy watched, almost in slow motion, as those burly knuckles headed directly for him. At the last second, weight slammed into him from the side, knocking him aside; he felt the thug's hand release him in surprise, and heard the sickening sound of a fist hitting someone else.

Landing on the floor, he looked up to see the man staring in surprise at the person he'd struck. Riza glared right back, one hand lifting to wipe at the blood now streaming from her nose.

"I believe he said that we'll leave," she said, voice low and dangerous. "Have your men let Sergeant Fuery go."

The thug grinned again, eyes giving the blonde Lieutenant a head-to-toe look that was nothing short of lecherous. "Well now . . . . Sorry about the blow, little lady. I was aiming for your boss. You wanna get that little runt set free, maybe you and I can . . . make a deal . . . ."

"Of course." Reaching to the small of her back, Riza drew a revolver and pressed the muzzle to the centre of the man's chest. She released the safety with an audible click. "Is this enough of a deal for you?" Roy made to get up, but her free hand pointed a firm finger in his direction. "Don't move. And you three!"

The three men in the process of roughing up Fuery looked over . . . and froze as they caught sight of the gun pressed to their leader's torso. The dangerous smile that appeared on Riza's face was meant for them, though her eyes remained on her main target. "If you would be so kind as to step away from the Master Sergeant before my trigger finger starts to twitch."

* * *

He looked up sharply as she came through the door into the waiting room, a piece of white tape stuck firmly across the bridge of her nose. Involuntarily, Roy's eyes went to the wide stain of brownish-red that was across the front of her uniform; he winced inwardly.

"Hey." He got to his feet. "What did the doctor say?"

"Well, my nose isn't broken, but it came close." Riza's voice carried the tone of a person with a slight head cold, owing to the buildup of dried blood. "Fuery took two solid hits to the solar plexus; they want to keep him overnight, just for observation."

Shaking his head as they moved toward the hospital exit, Roy shoved his hands into his pockets. "This was never supposed to happen. We've been to that bar a dozen times before; no gang members ever go in there on a Tuesday night." He blew out a breath, briefly lifting the hair out of his eyes. "Until this time, when a "welcome-to-the-team" drink sends the two of you to the emergency room."

"It could have been worse," Riza pointed out, as they stepped into the late night air. "Fuery could be seriously injured, so could I. I could have had to shoot someone instead of just threatening to. That big guy could have actually hit you."

"Which reminds me . . . ." Stopping in the middle of the deserted sidewalk, Roy caught her by the arm, forcing her to do the same. His free hand went to her chin, turning her face first one way, then the other as he surveyed the damage. A dark bruise was already forming on the right side of her nose, just under her eye. Blood was still speckled around the edges of her nostrils and onto her upper lip.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched him. "Don't give me that look of pity, sir," she said warningly. "If an injury like this means you made it out safely, then that's good enough for me."

"When I asked you to watch my back, I didn't mean for you to become a punching bag!" he countered, dropping his hand back to his side. "That's not your purpose!"

"With all due respect, sir, yes it is." Brown eyes flashed angrily as she levelled a finger at him. "I've dedicated my _life_ to protecting you: _that_ is my purpose in this world, to support someone who stands a valid chance of making it a better place. By swearing my life to that purpose, the purpose _becomes_ my life."

A tiny smile appeared through the anger. "Don't you see? My entire existence is wrapped up in making sure you survive to get to the top." She glanced about briefly, making sure they were alone, before taking his face in both hands and forcing him to look at her. "Pain is only going to distract you from your goal, and hinder you from getting to it, so I'll take it for you."

Roy couldn't look away now if he wanted to. "Don't take too much," he said quietly, his left hand reaching up to hold onto the hand against his cheek. "There's a whole lot of me wrapped up in you, too. I can't afford to lose a resource as valuable as you."

Riza's smile grew just a little, as one of his own appeared. "Looks like we're in this together, then."

* * *

_At first, I felt SO guilty having Riza get socked in the nose like that. _

_Then I realized she would look freakin' bad- $$ staring a guy down with blood streaming down her face. Because she took a hit for Roy, guys. Salute that lady. Salute her like you mean it._


	30. Conversation

_A/N: Oh my gosh, this is it. This is the last, the very last installment in the Riza-on-trial series. You may see references to it in later Snap Shots, but this is where the story ends. Let's all watch Roy and Riza be sneaky, because we love it when they do that._**  
**

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Thirty - Conversation**

Two soft knocks sounded from the door before it opened to admit the blonde Lieutenant. Her expression was perfectly composed, if more solemn than normal. She knew why she was here.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Standing, facing the window so that he wouldn't have to look at her, Roy kept his arms folded as he watched the grounds outside. "Get in here. Close the door behind you."

She did as told, shutting the door with a soft snap. Her boots made the only sound as she crossed the distance to his desk. He heard a soft rustle of paper as she set a file directly in front of his chair before the silence resumed. Tension rose as it continued unabated; Roy wanted her to get a good feel of his displeasure. Two days after her case had been thrown out of court, and he wanted answers.

At last, he spoke. "Why."

His tone was low, and demanded a reply, even without forming the word into a question, or specifying what he was talking about; again, she already knew. Riza gave a small twitch at the sudden sound, before bringing herself back into line.

"I have my reasons, sir. I believe Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes told you the main one for keeping you out of the loop regarding the trial."

"Yes, he did." Keeping his voice even, he finally turned to face her. "I'm disappointed, Lieutenant. I thought you prided yourself on being a good soldier. A good soldier follows orders."

Her steady gaze went past him, out the window. "As you know, sir, I _am_ following orders."

So that was how it was going to be. He felt the anger fade as realization crept in. That's right - she had been following orders . . . . Ones that had come from higher up than his office. He studied the expressionless face before him, thinking of how to phrase his questions. One roadblock didn't mean that he had to stop; he just had to go around it.

"That's right . . . I'm sorry. It's been a rough couple of weeks. I shouldn't have snapped at you." Roy waved a hand, a gesture for her to relax. "What are you standing to attention for? At ease, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir." Relaxing her posture only slightly, Riza met his gaze at last. For a long second, there was nothing but silent communication, until she said, "I'm glad you understand."

"And I'm glad to have you back." He tucked his hands into his pockets. "I realize you've only been back for a few days, but have you spoken to Elizabeth at all? I was hoping she would call, but she hasn't."

Her mouth twitched just slightly in the tiniest smile imaginable. She had been waiting for him to make a move like this. "Actually, she did call early this morning, before you were in. We talked for a few minutes, and she asked me to pass on a message to you. I asked if it was for military business; she said it was."

"I see." He dropped into his chair, leaning back. "And the message?"

"The order you placed on the twenty-first went through a week ago yesterday."

The twenty-first . . . three weeks ago. "Good; I was wondering when I'd hear something about that. "What about the delivery method? I remember she said she'd be using a different one; I'd like to know why?"

"Yes, she mentioned that." Her minuscule smile was gone now. "This shipment went with someone who asked that she use his service as a favour, to help him get word of his business out. 'Staging an enterprise,' Elizabeth called it. I get the impression she wasn't thrilled to comply, but did so anyway."

Roy watched her carefully, taking in every little nuance. "If the job gets done, then who is she to complain, right?" he said quietly. "Hopefully this new delivery man won't take advantage of her. She's a nice girl; I'd hate to see her get conned into something shady."

"True enough, sir." Knowing that he wasn't truly angry with her, Riza's eyes held a softer look, now that she had managed to explain the situation better. "If that's all, I should be getting back to work. I have a lot to catch up on."

"Go ahead. Let me know if you need any help, all right?" The glance he shot her was meaningful, and it was clear she caught it.

"Of course, sir."

He watched her leave, thinking that — during the trial — he had missed seeing that clipped-up sweep of blonde hair, and hearing the swish of her uniform as she walked. It was good to have that back. When the door closed, he turned his attention to the file she had brought in with her.

Inside the front cover was a note in her handwriting. _'Burn after reading_.'

Only a few pages otherwise, but it took only seconds to confirm they were copies of the documents that had exonerated her at the trial. Roy glanced toward the door with a smile. _Riza Hawkeye, you sly little minx . . . ._

The smile vanished as he began flipping through the pages, and the signature on the order for the diamonds' delivery caught his attention. A signature that had been removed from the papers submitted to trial . . . meaning _those _had been the copies, and what he held now were the originals.

Sitting back in the chair, he stared at that name. So, his suspicions had been correct after all. He had been toying with him, with his Lieutenant. With Riza's freedom. All to make a single, subtle point, just as Riza had said.

Roy was only too happy to burn the file and its contents to ash.

"And I'm glad to have you back." He tucked his hands into his pockets. "I realize you've only been back for a few days, but have you spoken to Elizabeth at all? I was hoping she would call, but she hasn't."

Her mouth twitched just slightly in the tiniest smile imaginable. She had been waiting for him to make a move like this. "Speaking of calls, _he_ called me specifically — at home — and asked me if I would mind making a delivery in East City for the military."

"I see." He dropped into his chair, leaning back. "When was this?"

"Three weeks ago. The order went through the day before I made the delivery."

"It's about time you told me all this. But what I really want to know is why he chose you?"

Her minuscule smile was gone now. "I only have a theory. It's possible that, by getting your office to do something for him, he hoped to make you believe you owe him one. The robbery was staged to be the icing on the cake — he gets me off the hook, and you're so grateful for what he did, that you'll do anything for him out of 'equivalent exchange.'"

Roy watched her carefully, taking in every little nuance. "And there's nothing we can do to stop him," he said quietly. "We can only hope he doesn't try something like this again. The last thing I want is to lose you."

"I know." Knowing that he wasn't truly angry with her, Riza's eyes held a softer look, now that she had managed to explain the situation better. "If that's all, I should be getting back to work. I have a lot to catch up on."

"Go ahead. And in the future, don't leave me out of the loop, even if it might hurt me. Got it?" The glance he shot her was meaningful, and it was clear she caught it.

"Of course, sir."

He watched her leave, thinking that — during the trial — he had missed seeing that clipped-up sweep of blonde hair, and hearing the swish of her uniform as she walked. It was good to have that back. When the door closed, he turned his attention to the file she had brought in with her.

Inside the front cover was a note in her handwriting. _'Burn after reading_.'

Only a few pages otherwise, but it took only seconds to confirm they were copies of the documents that had exonerated her at the trial. Roy glanced toward the door with a smile. _Riza Hawkeye, you sly little minx . . . ._

The smile vanished as he began flipping through the pages, and the signature on the order for the diamonds' delivery caught his attention. A signature that had been removed from the papers submitted to trial . . . meaning _those _had been the copies, and what he held now were the originals.

_Führer-President King Bradley._

Sitting back in the chair, he stared at that name. So, his suspicions had been correct after all. Bradley had been toying with him, with his Lieutenant. With Riza's freedom. All to make a single, subtle point just as Riza had said.

'Equivalent exchange applies. You owe me, Mustang.'

* * *

_So, long story short . . . Bradley is sort of a douchebag. A very wily, manipulative douchebag, not above using any means necessary (even ridiculously elaborate means) to make a point._


	31. Home Cooking

_A/N: Time for some fun, darlings. This should make you feel happy. Maybe even happy enough to review. ^^_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Thirty-one — Home cooking**

The minute hand on the office clock struck five, and — as though rehearsed — the three men most averse to paperwork got to their feet as one. The aforementioned paperwork was stacked, pushed aside, or hidden away in desk drawers to be ignored until tomorrow.

"Quitting time," Breda muttered quietly, with more than a hint of relief, before immediately glancing surreptitiously across at Lieutenant Hawkeye, to check that she hadn't heard him. Thankfully, Havoc and the Colonel were making too much noise squaring away their own desks for his comment to be noticed.

"It's hard to believe we've been in Central for almost a month already," Fuery commented suddenly, chin propped in one hand as he looked at his desk calendar. "We've been so busy, it feels like time just flew by."

Havoc looked to his own calendar. "A month? Really? Huh . . . ." His gaze swept around to the others. "It feels like we ought to do something to celebrate. One month survived under the Führer's nose."

"How do we celebrate something like that?" Falman asked, his head popping up over a veritable wall of finished paperwork, now that the conversation was getting interesting. "Some sort of party?"

Shaking his head, Havoc folded both arms in thought. "Not with just the six of us. I'm thinking something more along the lines of dinner someplace nice, that's all. We could pass it off as the Colonel taking us out in reward for our hard work."

"Just don't expect _the Colonel_ to foot the bill," Roy muttered, closing a desk drawer firmly.

"I think I'll pass," Hawkeye commented, tucking a sheaf of finished papers inside a file folder. "One woman in a crowd of five men is enough around the office; it doesn't need to spill over into social time."

"Aww, come on, Lieutenant," Breda cajoled. "You're as much a part of this group as anyone else; maybe more. It's not fair that you should miss out."

"Don't worry; she won't." Five pairs of eyes turned to look at the now-grinning Roy; a grin that was directed at his chief aide. She stared back, watching for whatever trick he was about pull from his sleeve. "In fact, I think it just became impossible for her to skip out."

Falman was the one to break the silence. ". . . . I'm not sure I follow, sir."

Stepping out from behind his desk, the still-smiling Colonel ignored the look his female Lieutenant was giving him. "The one-month celebration dinner will be on Saturday at 7 p.m. sharp. Everyone will meet at Lieutenant Hawkeye's place. She's cooking."

* * *

She'd never intended to have that many people in her apartment at one time. She never had, why start now? The building's superintendent had been kind enough to lend her four extra chairs for around her small kitchen table, but the size of said table couldn't be helped. If Fuery ended up squished between Breda and Havoc, it was his own problem.

Standing in the middle of her kitchen, she mentally counted off the items on the menu she'd created. The main course was keeping warm in the oven, while dessert chilled in the refrigerator. A pot of vegetables steamed away on the stove, across from the water pitcher and pot of fresh tea waiting on the counter. An unopened bottle of wine — brought by etiquette-conscious Falman — sat next to the other drinks, ready to be served whenever needed.

The wall between the kitchen and the main living/dining area muffled the conversation therein only a little. From what Riza could tell from the scraps she overheard, Breda was trying to explain shogi tactics to Fuery, while Havoc and Falman discussed cars. Stepping back to the stove, she stirred the vegetables, lips pressing together in mild irritation. She'd predicted it perfectly; five men talking on their own, while she was left to her own devices.

Five men . . . come to think of it, she hadn't heard the Colonel's voice in a while. Normally he would have joined Havoc and Falman's conversation . . . .

"Is it ready yet?" the familiar deep voice asked, from a bare metre behind her. "I'm starving."

"It will be ready when it's ready, sir," she replied, as patiently as ever. "Five minutes, or less." Taking the pot off the burner, she turned toward the sink and a waiting colander. "Though I do wonder why you decided to force me into this."

Leaning back against the counter, arms folded as he watched her work, Roy smirked. "I didn't _force_ you into anything. When any of us arrived tonight, you didn't have to answer the door. When you went to get your groceries for the week, you didn't have to pick up something extra for tonight."

"Since when do you monitor how much I buy with groceries?" Riza asked dryly. All excess water drained from the vegetables, she carried them over to an empty serving bowl on the counter. "You made tonight an order, just through phrasing alone. You really should watch what you say."

"I suppose I should." Dark eyes followed the mix of cauliflower, green beans, and baby carrots as they tumbled into the bowl. "You know . . . I didn't even know if you were any good at cooking."

"All the more reason to watch what you say, sir." Setting the empty colander aside, she passed him the bowl and pointed to a stack of waiting dishes and cutlery. "While you're here, perhaps you wouldn't mind setting the table."

He did as asked, but not without complaint. "Not even in the office, and you still have me working. That's really not fair, Riza."

A touch of a smile quirked the corner of her mouth. "It's not as bad as it could be, sir. I plan on having Havoc and Breda wash the dishes. Falman and Fuery can return the extra chairs to the superintendent."

At last, five minutes later, the group was seated around the table, staring; the four other males apparently shared the Colonel's doubts about Riza's cooking skills. The delicious proof before them put those doubts down for good. It wasn't fancy by any stretch of the imagination; just simple with a definite 'homey' feel. Baked chicken breasts covered in marinara sauce, mixed vegetables, and a bowl of mashed potatoes.

Riza lifted one eyebrow. "Are you all just going to stare, or are you actually planning to eat?"

Galvanized into motion, the group began dishing food onto their plates, passing the serving dishes around. Dinner was served.

* * *

Closing the door behind Fuery, Riza turned to the only other person left in her apartment: Roy. He was sitting on the floor, tossing a ball for Black Hayate to chase. The little dog faithfully brought it back, eager to continue the game.

Gathering up wineglasses from the coffee table, the blonde Lieutenant carried them into the kitchen. "Overall, I think that tonight went over fairly well."

"You had doubts?" Roy said, smiling as he watched Hayate pounce on the rolling ball. "That was the best meal I've had in a while. And I didn't have to set up a date first, or pay for it after."

"It's good to know that I saved you some trouble." Returning to the living area, she settled on the couch, watching the antics of her dog. Upon seeing his mistress sitting down, Hayate abandoned the ball and trotted over to jump up beside her. Putting both paws on her leg, he rested his head in her lap. "Perhaps we'll have to do it again another time. Like when you reach your goal."

The smile turned to her. "Hm. Good idea. Although maybe that one could be just you and me."

Scratching the soft fur behind Hayate's ears, Riza returned the smile. "All right. Though next time, it's your turn to cook."


	32. Shirt

**__**_A/N: I'm so sorry that this is 1) late (my Internet was down last night) and 2) so short. Give me a day or so, and I'll update this chapter with a couple other little itty bitty ficlets I have on the side, just to make it longer for you. Think of them like . . . mini-OVAs, or one of the 4-Koma Theatre shorts. ^^_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Thirty-two - Shirt**

They had to be in here somewhere. He'd been sure to pack them.

Standing straight, Roy ran a hand back through his hair, scowling at the suitcase lying open on the bed in front of him. His uniform was tucked inside it, along with everything else he'd packed for this little trip . . . except for the shirts to wear underneath the jacket.

Going without a shirt was out of the question. He couldn't show up to the command conference without one; nobody in their right mind wore the jacket against bare skin. Armstrong was the exception, but Roy wondered if a man like that could be considered completely in his right mind.

_Think, Roy_, he told himself, folding his arms. _If they're not in the suitcase, where are they?_

He'd packed the bag last night, brought it with him to the train station this morning . . . and between his research notebooks and clothes, it had been too heavy to meet the requirements for carry-on luggage. Abruptly, it clicked, and he headed for the door of his hotel room.

Hawkeye's bag had been under the requirements by ten pounds, his over by two. Neither of them wanting to wait for checked luggage on the other end, he'd transferred three books, and two shirts to her carry-on, and made it under the weight restriction by half a pound.

Slipping across the hallway, he knocked quietly on her door. "Hawkeye, it's me." No answer. Trying the doorknob, he found it unlocked, and opened the door just an inch. The room inside was dim, a single lamp turned on beside the bed.

Stepping inside, Roy lowered his voice. "Hawkeye?"

He caught sight of her, curled in an armchair by the window . . . and smiled. Her hair was down, several pieces falling across her face, one or two fluttering a little as she breathed. He knew she hadn't slept the night before, getting things in order before they left East City behind for a few days. Small wonder she'd fallen asleep now.

But it wasn't the sight of his resting lieutenant that made him smile; it was the fact that she had fallen asleep wearing one of the shirts he'd put in her suitcase.


	33. A Walk

_A/N: We made it through January, kids! Hope the blahs didn't hit you too bad; I managed to avoid them this year, by some magic. As we enter a new month, I'd like to extend a welcome to all the new reviewers, favouriters, and followers that this little series has garnered, as well as thank everyone in general for their support. You guys rock._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Thirty-three - A Walk**

"I have to admit, I'm a little surprised that you came all the way to Central," Roy commented. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, you know, the usual business," Lieutenant-General Grumman answered nonchalantly. "A few meetings, a dinner with the Führer-President, taking in the sights . . . . Same old, same old."

The two men strolled casually along a walking path that meandered around the Central Headquarters grounds. It was only about four hundred metres long, but it was a continuous loop around the the perimeter, shaded in parts by trees, and open to sunlight in others.

"Sounds charming." Folding his arms, Roy looked up at the sky overhead as he moved. "When do you return to East City?"

"Trying to find out when you'll be able to get rid of me, eh?" the old man quipped, nudging him in the ribs with a bony elbow. "And after all I've done for you!"

Roy smiled reluctantly. "You know I'm grateful for that."

"If you were truly grateful, you'd take me up on the last suggestion I made before you left Central," Grumman said, tossing the younger man a sly smile. "As you were leaving after our chess game."

"You know why I can't, sir," Roy said carefully, looking from side to side for anyone that shouldn't be privy to the conversation. Although no one was in sight, he lowered his voice anyway. "And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't talk about it in the open like this."

Grumman waved a hand in dismissal of his friend's concern. "There's no one listening in that shouldn't be. All I am to them is a doddering old fool from a backwater HQ in town to gawk at the high-society scenery." He levelled a finger at Roy. "And I'm not, so don't you go throwing that tired old 'fraternization regulations' line in my face again."

Blinking in surprise at the fire in the old man's tone, Roy made sure to choose his next words carefully. "Lieutenant-General, even if we wanted to have a relationship recognized, we couldn't without forcing her to break her promise, or renouncing my goal. Neither of us is willing to make that sacrifice."

He could have sworn that the bristly moustache stood even stiffer. "So what, my little granddaughter's just not worth the trouble?"

"I didn't say that, sir." Roy took another quick glance around, then smirked. "Regulations call for official recognition of a relationship. I never said that I wanted that. I said 'if' we wanted that."

Letting out a very un-General-like snicker, Grumman clapped him on the shoulder. "Now _that's_ the way to think! Seems you've got a brain behind all the swagger, eh?"

"I wouldn't have understood Master Hawkeye's research if I didn't," he answered, sobering slightly.

"Yes, I suppose so," Grumman murmured, stroking his moustache with one finger. Abruptly, he jabbed said finger into the air. "Speaking of Hawkeye, my granddaughter —"

"With all due respect, sir . . . . _Drop it_."

"I'd advise you to do as he asks, General. He gets cranky when you push him too far."

Roy's head whipped around fast enough to make his neck crack. Walking behind them at a discreet distance of five feet was Riza, her hands folded in front, and her expression calm as usual. Grumman stopped on the path, smiling cheerfully and waiting for her to close the gap.

"Riza! We were just talking about you."

Roy was considerably less nonchalant. "How long have you been there?!"

Unfazed, she looked to him. "Since we left your office, sir. It's within my duty as your bodyguard to accompany you when you head out, even if it's just around the Headquarters."

Suppressing the urge to growl in annoyance, Roy turned to his superior. "If you'll excuse us, sir, I think I need a private word with the Lieutenant."

"Of course; take your time." With a final satisfied smirk, Grumman turned and sauntered off, whistling quietly to himself. Roy watched him go for several metres before turning on Riza again.

"If any other officer came and asked me to take a walk with them, you wouldn't follow," he said, voice low. "There a reason why you're here?"

"Grandfather indicated I should come," she said bluntly. "I thought you knew that I was behind you."

Roy ran a hand across his face in exasperation. That cunning old fox . . . . "How much of that conversation did you hear?"

"Every word." She lifted one eyebrow. "That was an awfully bold statement you made about not wanting official recognition for a relationship. You're lucky that no unfriendly ears were listening."

"Don't I know it," he muttered sourly, shoving his hands into his pockets. He paused, then looked back toward the white stone of the headquarters building. "I suppose it's time to go back to work."

Riza smiled slightly. "I think you have time to finish this walk. Would you prefer I go back to the office?"

He regarded her a moment, then turned to continue. "Actually, Lieutenant, I'd like it very much if you'd walk with me."

* * *

_. . . At least Grumman wasn't dressed like a woman this time THAT'S ALL I'M SAYING._


	34. Telephone

_A/N: I did it. Last night, I finally watched the last episode of Brotherhood. I managed not to cry, and I was able to keep my feels at a normal level, but I'm sad it's over. _

_Funny, though . . . I can't quite seem to remember how the 2003 series goes . . . . ^^_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Thirty-four - Telephone**

One of the dangers of having an undercover personality is that one runs the risk of falling too deeply into character; deep enough that one can't get out. Roy really didn't think that he had to worry about that when it came to Hawkeye and "Elizabeth."

It was time for the seven p.m. check-in. Leaning back in his desk chair, he held the receiver to his ear, a little curl of excitement already wriggling around inside his chest. Covert operations always caused that feeling; sometimes even just sneaking something past Riza brought it out, if her discovering it would get her angry enough.

"_Hello?_"

He slipped into his own persona, the one that Lieutenant-General Grumman had helped him craft: the lady-killer. "Hi, Elizabeth. How's my favourite woman in all of Central?"

The giggle that sounded from the other end almost made him shiver. That feminine a sound coming from Riza . . . . "_Oooh, Roy, stop. You're making me blush_."

Laughing quietly, he let that mental image percolate for a moment. Riza, with her hair out of its clip and draped around her shoulders, blushing with shy uncertainty in those brown eyes . . . . "I won't lie to you, Elizabeth, that's the prettiest thing I can think of."

Another giggle. "_You _do_ have a way with words, Mr. Mustang . . . ._" That use of his surname was a warning sign; he was laying it on a little thick, and if he kept it up, Riza would have something to say about it when she got back. "_You're not still at work, are you?_"

"Afraid so," he said, giving a sigh of resignation. "I don't know where people got the idea that a man 'works from sun to sun.' I fall more into the 'work is never done' category."

"_My goodness, that's awful_," 'Elizabeth' said sympathetically. "_That scary assistant of yours is going to work you into the grave, isn't she!_"

Roy fought the impulse to snicker at her sarcastic self-deprecation. "I can forgive that; her heart's in the right place." His smooth grin slid back into place. "Besides, thinking of spending time with you is what gets me through a work day like this one."

"_Oh, so you'll be dropping by the shop sometime soon?_" There was an obvious little note of hope after that sentence, tacked onto the question's upward inflection. The excitement in his chest wriggled harder at the sound. "_You know, Jacqueline and Kate have been asking about you_."

The wriggle stopped. Why did she have to bring _them_ into it? "Oh, really? Isn't that sweet . . . ." Still, for her to mention them, it meant they were there and all right. "What are they asking about?"

_"It _is _sweet, isn't it? They're curious about you, is all; they keep asking when you're going to come around again. Jacqueline is very eager to hear more of the stories you always have for her_." A pause. "_I don't mean to push, Roy, but it would be a great help to me if you would come talk to her as soon as you can. She's driving me crazy._"

Roy smirked, looking at the stack of reports on his desk intended for Havoc. "You can tell Jacqueline that I've got a whole new set of stories for her. They'll keep her occupied for a while, at least, and out of your hair."

'Elizabeth's' smile was obvious in her voice. "_Thank you. Now, I don't believe you've told me what's prompted you to call._"

"I was just sitting here, thinking it had been a while since I talked to you." He tucked his free hand behind his head, leaning back further in the chair. "The last thing I want is for you to get lonely."

"_I was just thinking the same about you_," she said, her voice growing softer. "_Maybe we should arrange something for just the two of us_."

"To tell you the truth, I _was_ thinking I'd invite you out somewhere tomorrow night," Roy said, closing his eyes to let another little fantasy image take over. Other women in Central might dress to the nines and accentuate every bit of beauty they had, but not Riza . . . he'd long since thought she looked best in that anonymous cloak, headset on, and with a rifle in her hands. "I know a good place down by the river, if you're interested."

The giggle had changed to a soft, sultry laugh that actually did send a shiver up his spine. "_Of course I'm interested. What time?"_

He opened one eye to look at the clock. "Say about . . . nine?"

"_That's fine by me. I think I can leave the girls in charge of the shop for at least a couple of hours._" She paused. "_Am I the only one who wishes we were meeting tonight?_"

Roy closed his eyes again and grinned. Translation: forget tomorrow; meet me tonight instead. "Steady, Elizabeth, or I'm liable to rush over there right now."

"_I suppose I should get back to work_," 'Elizabeth' said with a sigh. "_Things are slow tonight, so if you end up wanting to call later, I'll probably be free._"

"I'll certainly consider it," he agreed. "I should probably head home myself. Take care, Elizabeth."

"_You too, Roy._"

Hanging up, the dark-haired alchemist got to his feet and stretched. Ten after seven . . . . That left him time to go home, shower and change, then pick up something to share with Riza when he met her at the river at nine.

He wouldn't admit it, but he loved these conversations with her when they could pretend they weren't soldier and superior. All in all, he had to wonder if it would be too bad for Roy and 'Elizabeth' to fall a little too deeply into character.

* * *

_Don't forget to review, fave, or follow!_


	35. Letter

_A/N: Ehhhhhhhh, it's so shooooooort. Shorter thanEd. I don't like the short ones; the long ones have so much more awesome wrapped up in them. Ah well: enjoy it anyway! (Or not, because apparently Roy sucks at writing letters.)_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Thirty-five - Letter**

_Riza:_

_I'm not putting the word 'dear' in front of that; makes me sound old, or something. Now that I put pen to paper, I'm honestly not sure what to say. The war goes on, and so far for me, so does life. Whoever said 'war is Hell' wasn't kidding. _

_I won't waste your time with every little complaint I have; I doubt I could list them all, anyway. I'm just writing to let you know I'm okay, and I hope you are, too. Out here, I'm never really near a phone, but mail is regular. I told you to call me if you needed to talk to someone, but for now . . . I guess just write, and I'll call you the minute I get the letter. I promise._

_Like I said, I'm still alive, and I hope you'll write back._

_Roy_

* * *

_Roy:_

_I was glad to hear you're all right; just make sure you stay that way. I've trusted you with a very dangerous secret, so I'll trust that you can survive to make it back._

_I think I can understand all the things you have to complain about. Goodness knows that being on the front lines is no life of luxury, and certainly not a camping trip with a group of friends that all happen to be wearing the same clothes. You don't have to tell me about the horrors of war; I read about them enough in the newspapers._

_Keep your head down, and your nose clean._

_Riza_

* * *

_Riza: _

_I smiled when the guy on mail call handed me your letter; that's the first time I've done that over here. It's like proof that humanity still exists somewhere._

_Speaking of our little secret, I don't know how many times it's saved my life already. Every time it does, I've thanked you. I don't know whether this makes you a bodyguard in absentia, or just an angel watching over me from far away, but without you sharing your father's research, I wouldn't be writing to you right now. _

_. . . This got depressing really fast, I'm sorry. I'm still all right._

_Roy_

* * *

Sitting on the sand beside a dwindling fire, Roy stared at the letter in his hands, one written to him from the blonde curled up a few feet away. A slower-than-usual mail system had caused it to reach him just a day after finding her in Ishval. All those letters he had sent to her, thinking she was living in her father's house, had been re-directed to her at the military academy. She had never once mentioned it.

_I didn't want you to worry_, she'd told him. _Or try to talk me out of it_.

Dark eyes slid sideways to look at the face cast into flickering shadow by the firelight. _It's too late to tell me not to worry_, he thought. Reaching over, he tugged her blanket a little higher around her shoulders; her father _had_ asked him to look after her, after all. He wondered if Master Hawkeye had meant 'look after her' in a more . . . permanent sense. There had been any number of thinly veiled hints of what would happen if Roy were ever caught romancing Riza while he was an apprentice, but now? He wasn't sure what would happen.

Brown eyes blinked sleepily open as he moved his hand away. ". . . . Aren't you asleep yet?"

"Was just about to," he answered. He held up the envelope and folded piece of paper covered in her handwriting. "I was just reading over a letter from a very close friend of mine. She writes to make sure I'm still all right."

Riza regarded him seriously for a moment. "Sounds like a nice girl."

"She is." Lying back, he tucked the letter and envelope into a pocket on the inside of his jacket, next to his pocketwatch. "I write her back to make sure she's still okay as well."

"I'm sure she is, sir. She's got someone like you looking after her."

* * *

_I've started re-watching the 2003 FMA series; I know there's all sorts of negativity toward it, but I don't mind. I want to hear from you guys: what's your favourite part from the 2003 series? Include it with a review, or shoot me a PM._


	36. Dog

_A/N: Coming to you this week from Walt Disney World, the place where dreams come true! The miracle of Wi-fi, that I can be on vacation and still be able to update. Speaking of that, enjoy! This one's just chock full of Hayate love._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Thirty-six - Dog**

Stepping through the door to her apartment, Riza listened for the padding of four little paws coming her direction. Black Hayate faithfully met her every day when she returned from work, tail wagging and brown eyes bright with happiness. He would wait until she'd removed her boots and then play around her feet, hoping to be picked up and cuddled.

But today, no happy little yap greeted her, and no claws clicked across the hardwood floor to welcome her home. Riza looked up from unlacing her boots, scanning the apartment for signs of her pet. ". . . Hayate?"

Footwear removed and still no dog in sight, she stood and made her way toward the bathroom. Her little Shiba Inu was known to curl up in the bathtub for naps; perhaps he was particularly deep in sleep and hadn't heard her thus far. She kept her footsteps intentionally quiet as she approached the door, then leaned inside. No ball of dark fur was sleeping in the tub.

"Hayate?"

* * *

They were crouched by the open door, studying the lock. Riza reached out and touched one fingertip to the faceplate. "There – those scratches. Those were made by whatever they used to break in."

Shaking his head slowly, Roy stood. "What I don't understand is why they would take Hayate. Is he supposed to be some sort of hostage? And what would they need one for?"

Getting to her feet, Riza folded her hands together in front. "Control," she said darkly. "They wouldn't think of using him as a hostage unless they know what he means to me. And if they're trying to control me, there's only two things I would be useful for. Either my aim . . . ."

"Or getting information on the military or me," Roy finished grimly. "I hate to admit it, but that makes a lot of sense. You're closer than any of the rest of the men. They might not be privy to the sort of information Hayate's kidnappers want."

"Supposing that he _was _taken for the purpose of being a hostage," Riza said. "We could be blowing this out of proportion."

"It doesn't change the fact that someone broke into your apartment and took your dog!" Roy said, pointing to the lock. "Can you imagine what would have happened if you'd been here?!

"Riza, dear!" A new voice sounded from the hallway, along with quiet, shuffling footsteps. An elderly woman appeared outside the door, peering at the two of them through thick glasses. "Oh, dear me. I'm sorry, am I interrupting?"

"Of course not." Riza's transition from focussed and worried to calm and reassuring was quick and seamless. She stepped forward, gesturing to Roy with one hand."Mrs. Westheimer, this is my commanding officer, Colonel Roy Mustang. Sir, this is my neighbour, Edna Westheimer."

"Oh my . . . a Colonel!" Mrs. Westheimer beamed, shaking Roy's hand with both of hers. "And at your young age, too . . . . What an accomplished young man." She shook a finger at him. "You know, you work this poor girl awfully hard; she's always coming home late, never has time for a social life! You're the first man I've seen in this apartment since she moved in!"

Roy blinked, taken aback at the woman's feistiness. One didn't really expect it from someone in her seventies. "I . . . wasn't aware of that."

"Mrs. Westheimer, did you need to speak to me about something?" Riza jumped in, forestalling further commentary from her neighbour.

"Oh, yes. Do forgive me, my memory's not as good as it used to be." Digging in a pocket of her dress, the woman produced an envelope sealed with blue wax. "A pair of young gentlemen gave this to me today, and asked me to deliver it to you. They said it was a bill for services."

Frowning, turning the envelope over in her hands, Riza scanned the writing on the front. "'Keen for Canines Dogwalkers . . . .'" Her eyes shifted to Roy; his narrowed.

"Oh, that's a wonderful idea!" Mrs. Westheimer exclaimed, clapping her hands together, oblivious to the look the two had just exchanged. "It'll do your little Hayate good to get out more." She turned to Roy. "Riza has the sweetest little Shiba Inu; any time she brings him back from a walk, he scratches at my door to get a biscuit. Friendliest thing you ever saw . . . ."

Once again, Riza broke in on the woman's chattering. "Mrs. Westheimer, when the men dropped this envelope off, did they have Hayate with them?"

"Yes, I believe they'd just picked him up. Was it the first day they'd come by? Poor thing seemed nervous about going with them; he tried to run into my apartment, but he already had his leash on."

It was Roy's turn to cut in. "If you don't mind, ma'am, Lieutenant Hawkeye and I have some business we need to discuss."

"Oh, of course! I'll leave you to it then." Patting Riza on the arm, Mrs. Westheimer turned to go back to her own apartment. "Don't work too hard, now!"

The instant the door closed behind her, Riza was crossing to the kitchen table, working at breaking the wax seal on the envelope. Roy followed, hands in his pockets. "So I take it you didn't hire dogwalkers to take care of Hayate when you're at work, huh?"

She already had a piece of paper out from inside the envelope, brown eyes intent on the words scrawled across it. "'To get him back, meet us at the Gainsborough Bar on Twelfth Street at ten p.m. tonight. Come alone.'" Turning to look at him, she set the paper on the table. "Twelfth Street . . . . That's not exactly the better part of town."

"Exactly why you're not going by yourself, no matter what the ransom letter says," Roy stated firmly. He held up a finger as she opened her mouth to protest. "Forget it. If we're right about what these men want, then there's no way I'm letting you march right into a trap. I'm going with you. We'll just make it . . . inconspicuous."

* * *

The bar was dim as Riza entered, and only half-full of patrons. She took a moment to study her surroundings before moving toward an empty table at the side, in full view of the rest of the room. Sitting down, she folded her hands on the worn tabletop and settled in to wait.

Two minutes later, a man appeared beside her, musclebound arms folded boldly across his chest. "You're Riza Hawkeye?"

She looked up, expression carefully blank. "Yes."

"Good. Come with me." He started for the back of the bar, leaving her to follow and evaluate just how much of a threat he was. He was strong, obviously, and towered over her by at least a foot and a half. Tattoos covered his arms, some disappearing under the gray, short-sleeved shirt he wore. Other clothing was limited to dark, nondescript pants held up with suspenders, and heavy boots. Obviously the muscle behind this little set-up.

Before she passed through the door to the rear alley, she glanced over her shoulder, to a window at the front of the bar. Outside, peering around the edge of the glass was one dark eye and several strands of messy black hair. Roy returned her nod, then vanished. She stepped out into the night once again.

Two more men were waiting for her. One was close to her height, light brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. He wore a smirk that was just as smarmy as his high-end suit and over-shined shoes. Riza pegged him as the financier and ringleader of the trio. The lanky, rat-faced man standing behind him was dressed in the same common clothing as the muscleman, also wearing a gray jacket. In his arms was a muzzled Black Hayate, little tail wagging furiously at the sight of his mistress.

"So glad you decided to join us, Miss Hawkeye," the smarmy man drawled. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"I wish I could say the same," she countered. "What is this all about?"

The smirked widened as the man spread his hands. "Please, Miss Hawkeye . . . can't we carry on a conversation like civilized people and not some heartless lowlifes?"

She folded her arms, feeling the handguns in their side holsters press against her ribs; it was a reassuring feeling. "I think you confirmed yourself as a heartless lowlife when you broke into an apartment after one little dog."

Muscleman's teeth bared at her; he growled deep in his chest at the insult to his boss. Smarmy waved a hand at him, a gesture to settle down. His smirk remained in place, though his eyes grew cold. "A necessary evil, I'm afraid. How else were we to ensure you'd come to meet with us? We have a rather important business proposition to discuss with you."

"Let me make sure Hayate is all right," she said firmly. "Then, if he is, we'll talk business."

At a nod from Smarmy, Ratface set the pup on the ground and attached a long leash to the brown leather collar. Riza crouched as Hayate scampered toward her as fast as his four little legs could carry him. His entire body wiggled as his tail wagged harder than ever, happy little whimpers escaping past the muzzle. Taking his chin in one hand, Riza turned his head first one way, then the other, studying the contraption.

". . . . Why is he muzzled?"

Smarmy shrugged fluidly. "I couldn't take the chance that he would injure one of my men. Your boy there has some very sharp teeth on him."

"I see . . . ." Running her hand comfortingly along his back, Riza paused, eyes narrowing at a suspicious smudge on the white fur at his sides. Her fingers probed through the fur until they touched skin; Hayate flinched, his tail pausing in its continuous sweeping. He whined and twisted his head to see what she was doing.

She stood up, her hands at her sides. "You kicked him."

Ratface made a 'tsch' noise. "Stupid mutt tried to bite my leg off. It was self-defense." He tugged on the leash, trying to recall the little dog.

Riza's foot stomped down on the cord; furious brown eyes turned on Ratface. "You kicked . . . my dog . . . ." she repeated, as though speaking to someone who was rather slow in the head. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that's not nice?"

"I think you'll find you have a lot more to worry about once I present my business proposal," Smarmy broke in, his voice suddenly stern. "It's still three against one, girl. Hear me out, and I might just let you leave unharmed." He waited until her gaze swung back to him. "As the personal adjutant to Colonel Roy Mustang, you are very close to vital information our employers want. Want very badly." He reached into a pocket and withdrew a gleaming pistol, levelling it at Hayate's head. "You can either help us get that information, or watch first your dog, then your friends and colleagues, die. One. By. One."

Her gaze blanked, her face becoming an unreadable mask. "Go to Hell."

There was a faint snap from further down the alley, and a wall of flame shot up between Lieutenant and dog, and the three thugs. Riza immediately dropped to one knee, one hand slipping under her coat, pulling out the left-side gun and holding it ready to fire. The flames dissipated, and her targets appeared. Two shots for Muscleman, and one each for Smarmy and Ratface. She made sure to only hit them in either the leg or the shoulder; there was no need for death tonight, only justice.

The smoke cleared, and footsteps moved briskly up the alley toward her as she undid the muzzle from Black Hayate's face. He pawed at his nose, scratching some itch that had been bothering him for who knew how long. Dropping the wire contraption to the ground, Riza stood and crushed it with her foot just as Roy stopped at her side.

"Well done," he commented, watching the three men lying on the ground, groaning in pain.

"Thank you, sir." Together, they moved to where Smarmy was lying on his face, clutching his shoulder. Using the toe of her boot, Riza rolled him onto his back. His eyes opened, focussing first on her, and then on the man that loomed over him with a dangerous expression.

"I'm Colonel Roy Mustang. What's this I hear about you kidnapping my Lieutenant's dog?"


	37. Match

_A/N: Spring Break is over; back to the grindstone I go. _

_This week's Snap Shot is one I wrote at work. I actually managed to freak myself out a little, with creepy old lady and night falling around me while I'm isolated and by myself in a lonely little tollbooth. But I hope you like it anyway._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Thirty-seven - Match**

Among the visual tangle of lights and coloured fabric, and the crowds of people flowing along the avenues, one man moved with a purpose, weaving among his fellow pedestrians with a look of concentration. Behind him, at a distance of ten metres, three burly men followed, their eyes on his shock of dark hair.

The three followers reached an intersection . . . and stopped, looking about for their target. No messy black hair, no faintly Xingese appearance in sight. Only the throngs of carnival-goers that Roy Mustang had disappeared into. With a growl of annoyance, the trio's leader pushed off again into the foot traffic, motioning his companions to follow. They stalked off, eyes still searching for their intended victim.

Inside a dim tent to one side of the intersection, Roy breathed a sigh of relief. He and Riza had been forced to go separate ways just inside the entrance, after the thugs had spotted them. The men were the personal bodyguards of an up-and-coming crime boss on the outskirts of East City, their employer specializing in illegal weaponry and unauthorized immigration. Two days ago, information had passed across Roy's desk that said employer would be conducting a business deal at an annual carnival; it was the perfect opportunity to catch him in the act and make an arrest.

And maybe get something resembling a date with Riza.

For now, it was better to stay put, rather than try to find her; let those goons get a little farther away. Using alchemy to defend himself was out of the question with this many people around. It would be far too easy to accidentally injure some innocent civilian.

He turned away from the tent flap to look around at his surroundings . . . and immediately gave a surprised yell at the wrinkled face that was shoved perilously close to his.

The wizened old woman chuckled at his reaction, giving a gap-toothed grin. "Been a while since Leena had a pretty boy like you enter," she said, looking at him almost curiously. She took a step back. "You be hiding from the ladies?"

Roy took in the interior of the tent at a glance; it was bare save for a velvet-draped table set with a deck of cards, a pair of stools, and several jars that cast light out into the tiny space. It took him a moment to realize that the light came from dozens of tiny fireflies. "No, actually; hiding from a few people that would rather break my nose than shake my hand." He took a step back toward the tent flap. "I'm sorry; I should go, my adjutant will be looking for me."

"Military!" Leena's pointing finger snapped to a stop at the end of his nose; Roy tried not to flinch. "Sooooo, Pretty Boy is a soldier. A death-bringer." He wasn't quite sure how to respond to that; even in Ishval, no one had called him a 'death-bringer.' Leena merely chuckled. "Don't try to lie to Leena, Pretty Boy. She can smell the blood and ashes on your hands."

"Can you, now," he said coolly. His eyes narrowed just slightly. "And how is that possible?"

The old woman shrugged. "Leena just knows. Leena knows many things, Pretty Boy." She cackled to herself, turning and shambling toward her table. "Come. Sit. Rest yourself."

This was getting too weird. Roy inched a little farther toward the tent flap. "That's all right; as I said, my adjutant will be looking for me. I should go."

"She searches for you, but you needn't go just yet, Pretty Boy. She will find you soon enough," The old woman settled creakily into her chair. "Come, sit with Leena. You be easier to find if you stay in one place, yes?"

Uneasily, Roy crossed to the vacant chair in front of the table, sitting down carefully. The spindly thing squeaked loudly, but held his weight easily. Dark eyes watched as Leena reached for her cards. "You're a fortuneteller?"

"Fortuneteller? Pah!" She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Frauds, charlatans they be. Leena be possessed of the Second Sight, that which sees what mundane eyes cannot. That be how she smelled the blood and ashes on your hands." Her gnarled fingers deftly shuffled the cards, her eyes never leaving him. "But Pretty Boy does not believe."

He shrugged. "I'm an alchemist; I need proof in front of me before I'll believe anything." He watched as she set the cards in front of him. ". . . What?"

"Pretty Boy needs to touch the cards," Leena rasped, leaning forward. "The cards can't read you if you don't touch them first." Her gaze was intense. "Touch the cards, Roy Mustang."

For a moment, he just stared at her. She knew his name, without him telling her who he was. No, she'd probably just heard it batted around the Eastern region; that happened often enough. He would humour her, let her show him whatever little trick she had, and then go find Riza. It was harmless, really.

Picking up the deck of cards, he shuffled them once, before Leena held out a hand. "That be enough. Let Leena see what your future has in store." The cards back in her hand, she breathed deep, then set five of them out, face-down, and set the rest to one side. Roy watched as she flipped over the first card.

"Mmmmm . . . King of Swords. That be you, Pretty Boy." Leena laced her fingers together under her chin, regarding the card thoughtfully. "The King of Swords rules a kingdom of high ideals. He be the highest form of fairness, a judge. He knows how the judgements he makes will effect everyone in the present and times to come. Even other Kings go to him when they need such a judgement." Her eyes narrowed. "But everything he touches be stained in fairness. Because of this, maybe he seems cold, distant, harsh . . . even cruel. All that, he can be, but loving and friendly beneath it."

She reached for the next card, and smiled. "But what be a King without a Queen? Your Queen, Pretty Boy, is the Queen of Cups. A woman that seems to know what's wrong before you open your mouth, a rock of emotional support; empathy. She knows what you need, what others close to her need. This woman be special." She tapped the card, grinning up at him. "She be always there when you need her."

His mouth was going dry. This was . . . impossible. Logically impossible. But Leena ignored his shocked expression and kept on with her reading.

"The Lovers," she announced, flipping over the third card. "Not what you think, Pretty Boy. There's a choice here, whether to accept something that attracts you or not. You can say 'no,' but if you do . . . ." She shook her head. "You could regret it. Not a fleeting regret, boy, mark me. A deep regret that would follow you, haunt you, for the rest of your life." Her eyebrows lifted meaningfully. "Take, for instance, the choice of whether you want that Queen of yours, or not."

She didn't hesitate, moving to the fourth card. "Temperance. There be something between you and the Queen, besides attraction. Something that can't be blended together; reconciled. A feeling that there be something that has to give." She shook her head again. "Temperance tells you that that feeling be just in your silly little head. Moderation, Pretty Boy. Moderate the thing between you; experiment, adjust."

The final card showed a pretty blonde-haired girl stroking the mane of a roaring lion. Leena smiled. "Ahhhhhh. Doesn't _that_ bode well for you . . . . Strength. The Maiden be weak of form, but her self-mastery is her strength. The Lion be strong in body, but lacks the control of himself. But when the Maiden touches the Lion, embraces him, looks him in the eye, her weaknesses are bolstered by his strengths, just as his weaknesses are bolstered by hers. It creates perseverance, personal honour, and courage."

Looking up at him again, Leena chuckled. "You look like Leena has scared you, Pretty Boy. You be frightened by what the cards say?"

"Not frightened, no . . . ." Roy swallowed hard, trying to stop his mind racing. Trying to stop drawing parallels between the reading, and life as he knew it. _Logically impossible_, he reminded himself; there were too many perfect matches between his life and what Leena had said for it to be real, to be anything but some illusion. "An interesting trick."

"No trick," Leena said solemnly. "The cards have never lied to Leena. All they have told you is the truth, and you know it be. It be in your eyes."

The tent flap was pushed aside, Riza stepping inside as she caught sight of him. "There you are; I was starting to wonder if they'd caught you." She paused, her eyes taking in his shell-shocked look before going to the old woman behind the table. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." He got to his feet, offering a polite node to the fortuneteller. "Thanks for the talk."

Leena gave her gap-toothed smile again. "You'll have to come back and see Leena another time, Pretty Boy. She would like very much to know what becomes of the future she read for you." Her cackle followed the two soldiers out back into the early evening air.

Riza glanced over her shoulder as the tent flap fell closed. "What was she talking about, sir?"

He shoved his hands into his pockets, fighting down a shudder. "I'm not sure." Roy glanced around at the people milling past, then lowered his voice. "I'll tell you later. Some time when there's no one to care what gets said." He started off along the street. "Come on; we've still got work to do."

Falling into step beside and just behind him, Riza folded her hands behind her back. "Whatever you say, sir."

* * *

_Creeeeeeepy creepy creepy. But I actually kind of adore Leena; I like reading her lines out loud with like . . . an Irish accent. She sounds so much cooler that way. Don't forget to review._


	38. Mischief

_A/N: I'm so sorry for being late this week, guys; I had an assignment due this morning, and another due tomorrow that was only partially done and had to be worked on last night. I'm in the clear now, so let's have some bat-s**t crazy Roy._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Thirty-Eight - Mischief**

Havoc poked his head past the edge of the office's doorframe, expression nervous. "Psst! Breda!" He paused until the other man looked up at him. "The Colonel in yet?"

The red-haired man nodded grimly. "I don't think he left last night; Fuery was here by six a.m., and he could hear the Colonel muttering away in his office."

Slinking toward his desk, Havoc glanced nervously toward the door to the inner office and shuddered. "I tell you, man, he's getting closer to the deep end every day, now. If Lieutenant Hawkeye doesn't come back soon, he's gonna go full postal, and take all of us with him."

Seated in a plush armchair in the hotel's lobby, Riza scrutinized the file on her lap. She was in dress uniform, trying hard to ignore the uncomfortable skirt by focussing on the task at hand. The mayor of this city, out 50 miles from East City, between there and Central, and the location of the military's arms factory, was supposed to be meeting her shortly to discuss the factory's possible expansion. All Riza wanted was to get the interview over with and return to East City; this was third time the mayor had rescheduled.

"Lieutenant?" She looked up at the young concierge that had appeared by her chair. "Telephone call for you, ma'am. At the front desk."

"Thank you." Closing her file, she rose fluidly and followed the concierge to the desk. Accepting the receiver with a nod, she brought it to her ear. "This is Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"_Lieutenant! Thank goodness I reached you!_"

". . . Fuery?" Frowning, Riza placed one hand on a hip. "To what do I owe the honour?"

"_I wish I had good news, Lieutenant, I really wish I did._"

That caused her to tense; her free hand curled into a fist. "What are you talking about? What's wrong?" Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly; he would only be calling her if . . . . "Has something happened to the Colonel?"

"_Yes, ma'am. Something is_ very _wrong._" There was a pause. "_He's actually here right now; would you be able to speak to him for a moment?_"

Riza was torn; reassure herself that Mustang didn't absolutely require her presence, or remain firm in the belief that he was a grown man and could look after himself . . . . "Very well. Put him on."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Fuery's voice was replaced with a familiar, deeper one. "_Hawkeye! Hawkeye, is that you?_"

"Yes, sir." She waited, but he didn't say anything else. "Sir, Fuery said that there was something wrong?"

"_He what?!_" The voice grew distant as Roy pulled the phone away from his mouth. "_Fuery, you tattletale! Just wait until I get my hands on you!_" The voice returned to normal volume and a calm tone. "_Sorry, Hawkeye, we'll have to cut this short. I'll call you tonight._" There was a click, and all that Riza was left with was a dial tone.

Shaking her head at the bizarre actions of her commanding officer, she returned the receiver to its cradle as the same concierge approached her with a slip of paper.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye?" The teenager held out the slip out to her. "A message for you from the mayor, ma'am. He regrets that he can't make the appointment for today, but would appreciate it if you would stop by his office tomorrow."

Riza sighed as she took the paper, and turned away. Today was not going well at all . . . .

* * *

Taking a sip from the mug of tea, she set it down on the desk, returning to the reports in her hand. Riza silently thanked Falman for the tenth time, and his agreeing to send her the files that the others were having trouble getting through. She could certainly understand why - the office was short one person, least of all the one that kept them all sufficiently motivated. At least having these files kept her from going stir-crazy out of boredom.

Behind her, on the nightstand, the room's telephone rang. Riza checked her watch as she rose to answer it; the Colonel would be home by now, and calling as promised.

"Hello?"

"_Is this Lieutenant Hawkeye?_"

Her brow furrowed at the strange voice. "Yes, it is. And you are?"

"_Master Sergeant Stadfeldt, ma'am, East City Military Police. Lieutenant, are you the personal adjutant to a Colonel Roy Mustang?_"

Sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed, Riza couldn't help but feel dread. "I am. What is this in regards to, Master Sergeant?"

The voice on the other end took on a sheepish tone. "_Well . . . we're trying to locate him, ma'am. We've received some reports that indicate he . . . might have gotten into a bit of a trouble. Since you work so closely with him, we thought you might know his whereabouts._"

Leaning forward, Riza dropped her forehead into her free hand in exasperation. She should have known something would go wrong, from that strange phone call from Fuery earlier. "I'm sorry, Master Sergeant, I've been in Ansep all week on military business. What sort of trouble is the Colonel in?"

"_It's nothing serious, Lieutenant; just a couple complaints from a bar on Banting Street. If you don't know where to find the Colonel, then —_"

"Just a moment, Master Sergeant." Riza lifted her head, frown deepening. "Why don't you let me handle tracking the Colonel down? I can get the rest of his staff on this, and report to you when we locate him." When the man hesitated, she added, "It'll save you time and manpower in the long run."

"_. . . All right, Lieutenant, if you think you can handle it._"

"I know the man quite well, Master Sergeant. If I can't handle it, then I've severely underestimated him." Sitting straight again, Riza reached for the complimentary pad of paper and pen beside the phone. "Now, maybe you'd better tell me just what happened at the bar."

"_Yes, ma'am. My patrol and I were dispatched to respond to a disturbance around 20:30. According to the bartender, your Colonel Mustang had one too many, and then went into some kind of meltdown. There was this woman sitting two barstools over, alone; he spun her around, asked when she'd gotten back into town, and if someone name 'Fury' had called her to come back because he — this 'Fury' guy, I guess — was a 'sneaky tattletale.'_" The officer cleared his throat. "_He escaped the bar before we arrived on the scene, ma'am._"

Her hand rose, massaging at the beginnings of a headache in her right temple. "One last question, Master Sergeant. This woman at the bar; did she have blonde hair?"

"_. . . Yes, ma'am._"

"Thank you. I'll be in touch."

* * *

She brought herself out of a shroud of sleep in record time, her hand reaching for the telephone before her eyes were even open. ". . . Hello?"

"_Lieutenant, it's Havoc. Sorry to wake you._"

Sitting up, Riza's free hand went to the light switch. "Don't worry about it. Did you find him?"

"_Well . . . yes and no_," the other said, sounding embarrassed. "_We were checking all his regular haunts, when Breda ran into some MPs. They told him that the Colonel had been spotted in Centennial Square . . . you know the place, right? With the giant fountain?_"

She nodded. "Where the General Grumman gave his acceptance speech when he assumed his position. Did they stop him?"

"_Sorry, Lieutenant; he got away again,"_ Havoc said. "_But not before he tackled a civilian woman into the fountain, apologizing at the top of his lungs for causing so much trouble and making her worry_."

"Oh no . . . ." Riza rubbed a hand across her eyes. "Havoc, how did it get this bad? I've only been gone a few days."

"_I don't know, ma'am, but right now, I think you're the only one he'll listen to. Have you met with Ansep's mayor yet?_"

Staring at the wall opposite her, Riza frowned in thought. "No, I haven't. I'm supposed to go to his office tomorrow for the interview." She stood up, decision made. "Havoc, book me a train ticket back to East City for noon tomorrow; if I haven't met with the mayor by then, then the military's funds are obviously better spent elsewhere."

Relief was evident in the Second Lieutenant's voice. "_Right away, Lieutenant._"

"And, Havoc?" Her eyes narrowed. "On the off-chance that the Colonel is caught, I have a message I'd like you to give him . . . ."

* * *

She stepped off the train, looking around the platform for any familiar face; within seconds, she spotted it under a frantically waving hand. Fuery met her halfway.

"You're just in time, Lieutenant; they finally found the Colonel. Oh — here, let me get that for you." Reaching down, he took her suitcase, then started toward the exit.

"Where was he?" Riza asked, following at a quick march.

"Well . . . ." The bespectacled Master Sergeant looked back at her uncomfortably. "He was sitting at your desk when I got to the office this morning. Facedown and asleep on top of it. The military police arrived half an hour later, woke him up, and took him to the station for questioning. Apparently the office was the last place they thought he'd be."

"I see . . . ." Riza straightened her shoulders in determination. "Take me there; let's see if I can talk some sense into him."

* * *

She entered the holding cell quietly, and waved the guard away. He gave her a nod and a salute before murmuring, "I'm just at the end of the hall if you need me, ma'am." Turning with perfect precision, he marched off.

Riza folded her hands behind her back and directed her attention to the man in the tiny room's corner, slouched with his arms folded over his chest, dark eyes staring blankly at the floor. "This is a fine mess you've gotten into this time, sir."

Roy's head snapped up, eyes widening as he caught sight of her. "Hawkeye!" Bolting upright, he was across the cell in two strides and hugging her tightly. "You're finally back!" He tensed, then took a half-step back, his hands going to her shoulders. "It's actually you, right?"

"Yes, sir," she said calmly; she'd fully anticipated this reaction. "When I heard about the . . . problems you were having, I had no choice but to come back as soon as possible."

"Yeah . . . the problems . . . ." His hands dropped to his sides as he looked away. "Havoc . . . delivered your message."

"Oh, did he?" She folded her arms, watching him evenly. "Repeat it back to me."

"If I ever do something this stupid again, you'll shoot me in the foot." His eyes shifted to her in a sidelong glance. "And if I even think I'm going to do something stupid again, call you right away."

"Exactly." Finally, she smiled. "The two women you mistook for me were waiting outside when I got here; I spoke to them and convinced them to drop the charges against you. I also instructed the Master Sergeant who arrested you not to put this incident on your record as anything more than you temporarily cracking under the pressure of your position." She stepped to the side, and gestured to the door with one arm. "You're free to go, sir."

He put one arm around her shoulders, walking with her into the hall. "Hawkeye, you're a lifesaver."


	39. Sly Person

_A/N: As I've mentioned, I'm rewatching the 2003 FMA series._

_. . . . Roy is a DOUCHEBAG, oh my GOSH. I'd forgotten how dickish he was in that one. Just . . . DUDE. It is a pure MIRACLE that Riza hasn't shot him at least once for being so insufferable._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Thirty-nine — Sly Person**

Two heads lifted in unison as the blaring of sirens sounded, both inside the building and out; two short blasts, and one long. In the next instant, Riza was moving. She crossed the distance from her desk to the door in record time, slamming it closed and turning the lock with a loud _click!_

"Lockdown drill," Roy muttered, scowling as he slouched in his chair. "Great. Just great."

The emergency PA system crackled to life. "Attention; attention, all personnel. Central Command has entered lockdown due to an intruder on the premises. Response teams twelve, thirteen, and fourteen, you are ordered to muster for briefing at rendezvous point E. All other teams, remain on standby."

"Not a drill," Riza murmured, moving toward the window behind the Colonel's desk. "The others are all either elsewhere in the building, or off the base entirely; hopefully, they found someplace to hide."

"Twelve, thirteen, and fourteen . . ." he mused, rubbing at his chin in thought. "They cover the west end of the building into the centre, on the third floor. And with most of the top brass offices in and around that area . . . it could be someone making a move against the Führer."

"An exceptionally stupid move, with his security," the blonde Lieutenant countered, drawing the window blinds closed, as per lockdown procedure. Turning around, she paused. "What's that look for, sir?"

Smirking to himself, staring off into space, Roy propped his chin in his hand. "Just wishing whoever it is good luck."

Mentally shaking her head at her superior's off-handedness, Riza moved around his desk, back toward her own. Bringing himself back to reality, Roy watched her. ". . . What are you doing?"

"Going back to work, sir. We have to pass the time somehow." The use of 'we' clearly indicated she expected him to do the same. However, as was often the case, what she expected and what the Colonel did were two different things.

Getting up, he strolled casually out from behind his desk, moving toward hers. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Lieutenant, but I thought it was lockdown procedure to take cover on the floor of whatever room you happen to find yourself in."

She didn't turn his way, one hand on the back of her chair. ". . . That's correct, sir. Though I'll admit I was hoping you wouldn't remember that, on the off-chance you might get some work done."

"Are you kidding? It's a sanctioned excuse to slack off, and I'm not one to waste an opportunity." Slipping past her, he settled onto the floor with his back against her desk. Looking up, he grinned at her half-exasperated, half-quizzical expression. "Come on, Lieutenant, you followed every other part of the procedure. Don't quit now."

Reluctantly, Riza moved her chair aside, and sat down cross-legged in front of the desk's leg space. "May I ask why you're taking cover behind _my_ desk, sir?"

He shrugged. "It's like a bait-and-switch. If the intruder came in here after me, he'd shoot my desk. If I'm over here, I stand less of a chance of getting shot."

"That's assuming the intruder had time to shoot at all," Riza said dryly, with just the barest hint of a smirk.

"Of course."

Silence fell, the two of them simply listening to the absence of sound. Quiet was not unheard of in the area of the headquarters, but complete silence was an oddity. Thus, when thudding footfalls sounded from the ceiling, they were highly noticeable.

Roy looked up as faint voices, the yelling muffled by the floorboards and plaster, sounded along with the boots. ". . . Uh oh."

Brown eyes tracked the footsteps as they moved to the opposite side of the room. "The response teams are on the other side of the building. They won't get here for a few minutes yet."

"Then we'd better hope whoever's up there doesn't start —"

The words were lost in a spray of gunfire from above. The triggerman was firing into the floor, his automatic weapon sending plaster chips and dust scattering over the office below. Reaching out, Riza caught hold of her superior's uniform front and dragged him forward before pushing him sideways into the leg space under the desk. A moment later, his hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her in beside him.

Neither dared breathe for several seconds, listening as plaster continued to fall and the yelling upstairs resumed. Finally, Roy muttered, "Whose office is above this one?"

"That would be Brigadier-General Forsythe, sir." She shifted slightly. "Colonel, do you mind moving a little? I'd like to be able to reach my gun in case they come down to our floor."

He obliged, watching as she reached behind herself to check the holster at the small of her back. "Do you think this qualifies as close quarters combat? There's obviously some sort of scuffle above, and the two of us . . . ." He grinned. "Well, you can't get much more 'close quarters' than this."

Riza opened her mouth to reply . . . then paused as she caught sight of the smirk on his face. ". . . . Why do I get the feeling you planned this?"

Suddenly the picture of innocence, he pointed to himself. "Me? Plan a lockdown? Never."

"I meant, planned to get me this close with no way out," she said, not rising to the bait.

The smirk re-appeared. "You see right through me, don't you. That's one of the many, many things I like about you, Lieutenant; you're always so on-the-ball, so in control, and you know me far too well to let me get away with anything. And now . . . ." Roy slid an arm around her waist, leaning closer. "It's just you and me, close quarters, and a lockdown."

"How very lucky for you that the rest of the men just happened to be out of the office when the alarm sounded," Riza commented, without so much as a blush. "That was very sly of you, getting me down here just in time to dive under cover."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

With another yell from upstairs, more gunfire sent ceiling material raining down, this time directly over his desk. Both of them instinctively ducked, though nothing could reach them under their temporary shelter. When Roy opened his eyes, he was nose-to-nose with his Lieutenant. Again, the momentary breathlessness as they waited for more gunfire. Nothing.

"Think about it, Riza," he said softly. Brown eyes that had been watching what little of the room they could see swung back to him. "No one would ever know about this."

"This hasn't turned into anything worth knowing about, sir," she countered, watching him carefully.

He knew she was right, but to be perfectly honest, he didn't quite know where to go from here. Every suspicion Roy had ever had was right – her body fit against his like it was made to. His hand against her back made him acutely aware of just how slim she was, a fact that her uniform never let slip. She was close enough to kiss, but it felt . . . strange. Like to do so now, with bullets flying in the office above, plaster raining down on their office, was to toss aside the gravity of the situation.

Roy wasn't sure he cared.

Before he could think about it too much longer, he closed the last inch between his lips and Riza's. Her hand touched his arm, not to push him away, but to warn him that she would if he took this too far. More gunfire sounded overhead, this time louder, from multiple weapons. There was an agonized yell, then silence.

Breaking the contact, Riza glanced upward. "Sounds like the response team arrived."

For the second time, the PA system crackled. "Attention; attention all personnel. The intruder has been apprehended; lockdown is over. Return to your scheduled duties."

Roy sighed. "I guess my time's up."

"I'm sure you made the most of it, sir," Riza said, slipping out from under her desk and getting to her feet to survey the damage done.

He joined her, dusting himself off. "I tried my best." Smirking, he indicated the door. "You know, we don't _have_ to unlock that just yet. The others won't be back for a few minutes."

"Nice try, Colonel. Go open the door."


	40. Halves

_A/N: Another Sunday, another update. : ) Last week's appears to have gone over fairly well; here's hoping this one does the same!_

* * *

**Forty - Halves**

The dim interior of the warehouse lay under a thick blanket of silence. Crates were stacked in orderly rows of varying heights, most covered in a layer of dust that proved they hadn't shifted in who knew how long. More dust motes glittered in the early evening sunlight coming through the high windows, tingeing everything golden.

Abruptly, it all exploded into chaos.

Two figures darted from one row of crates to another, and three others on a raised catwalk around the building perimeter opened fire with automatic weapons. One of the runners on the ground floor turned, bringing a gun in each hand to bear on the attackers, and providing cover fire.

Catching Riza as she ran backward into their new hiding spot, Roy scanned the marks on the side of the crates around them. "I don't see them yet. Are you sure they're in this section?"

"If not, then they're at least somewhere in this building," Riza answered as the automatic weapons fire died off. "They wouldn't be shooting at us if there was nothing in here to protect."

They both looked up sharply at a burst of radio static from the catwalk, followed by a voice too muffled to fully understand, though the tone was urgent. Roy scowled. "They're calling for backup. We'd better hurry."

"Colonel . . . ." Riza pointed to a crate on their left and the markings scrawled across it. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

He looked . . . and the scowl turned into a grin. "If I am, then I like the way you think."

It was the work of a moment to get the lid off the crate and collect what they wanted from inside. Roy adjusted his gloves as Riza inserted a fresh clip into each handgun. A glance and a nod later, they were back in motion.

This time, Roy went one way, and Riza went another, forcing their attackers to divide their fire. Roy dove behind cover and out of sight, though the gunfire kept up as his Lieutenant traded shots with the men on the catwalk; she was buying him time to get their distraction set up. Reaching under his long overcoat, he did just that.

Thirty seconds later, the firework went caroming off across the warehouse, lit by a single, well-controlled snap of the dark-haired alchemist's fingers. The gunfire from the catwalk shifted toward it, and several well-placed bullets caused it to detonate prematurely in a ball of angry flame.

Roy gave a sharp whistle, then stood and let fly with a second, smaller missile, this one heading directly for the enemy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Riza shift her aim just slightly before firing again; another, smaller fireball burst into being almost directly in the faces of the men on the catwalk.

All three fell back, weapons clattering on the metal path as they were dropped, the sound mingling with the pained shouts of men who have been blinded by a flash bomb. Riza ducked out of cover, running lightly across to Roy's position; her eyes never left the catwalk, just in case.

"We should keep looking. The backup they called for could be here any minute."

_Ka-chak!_

A group of men appeared from behind the crates twenty metres away, all wearing olive green uniforms and carrying a variety of automatic rifles. Each one primed and ready to fire.

"Hands on your heads!" the leader barked, his eyes hidden behind dark goggles. He gestured to Riza with the business end of his rifle. "You; woman. Drop your weapons."

"You're contradicting yourself," she commented, her tone indicating that she was talking about small town news, as though the sixteen gun barrels pointed her way were completely nonexistent. "I can either put my hands on my head, or I can drop my weapons. I cannot do both at the same time. Which is it?"

"Just shut up! Put the guns down, nice and slow." He watched as Riza crouched, setting each pistol gently on the floor before standing straight. "Good job, honey - see? You _can_ take orders. Now which of you wants to tell me what you're doing here?"

"We're investigating some weapons that came to Central HQ from this warehouse," Roy explained, as the sixteen uniformed men began drifting into a loose circle around them.. "Seems that one of our procurement officers has been doing some gun-smuggling on the side, and one of his legal shipments got switched out for a not-so-legal one. We traced that one back to this warehouse, where we ran into your buddies up top."

The newcomers' leader grinned. "That's trespassing, friend. I could call the MPs and have them arrest you right now."

"But you won't, because then you'll have to explain to those same MPs why there are exactly twelve crates in this warehouse full of illegal weapons," Roy pointed out. He smirked, offering a 'what-can-you-do?' shrug. "Unless you wanted to make a deal?"

The leader's body language became wary. ". . . . What kind of deal?"

"You take your men and leave. Five minutes later, my Lieutenant and I leave. We pretend we never met, and no one gets hurt." Roy grimaced. "I don't know about you, but I have this thing against being shot —"

"No deal."

Roy's face fell. ". . . I see." He glanced sideways at Riza, found her already watching him. "Look, you're a commander," he addressed the squad leader. "You know how it is with subordinates you've worked with for a long time. If we're going to die, let me say goodbye to her properly?"

There was a brief hesitation; Roy held his breath. If he didn't go for it . . . . "Yeah, whatever. Make it snappy."

"Of course."

Turning, he caught Riza around her shoulders, pulling her close against him. Their lips met to one or two whistles from the surrounding guards, and her arms slipped around his waist. He smiled against her mouth, knowing she'd understood his last-ditch plan perfectly.

Lips broke contact, and the gun that had been concealed at the small of Roy's back was suddenly in Riza's hand, firing methodically along the circle of men behind him as she peeked over his shoulder. Similarly, he lifted one hand from her back, snapping fingers sending fire dancing through the air. Men with scorched hands dropped their weapons, the cartridges inside overheating in the flames and exploding.

In five seconds, it was over.

Tossing aside the empty gun, Riza picked up the two she'd been forced to set down, striding across to where the squad leader lay on the floor, clutching an injured leg. "To be perfectly fair," she said seriously, "you _did_ tell him to make it 'snappy.'"

Roy crouched next to the man, his smile not reaching his eyes. "Now, how about you tell us just where those weapons' crates are?"

* * *

They stood to one side, watching the MPs carry out the twelve boxes of illegal weapons and load them onto a military transport. Both had been quickly questioned in regards to their involvement, then told to wait for a full debriefing.

"All things considered, this turned out well," Roy commented. "That's the most in sync we've been in a long time."

"Two sides of the same coin," she agreed, brown eyes watching another crate go by. "Though I could have gotten to your gun on my own."

He snorted quietly. "Oh, come on. With my plan, I saved you at least three seconds you wouldn't have had otherwise. And besides . . . ." He grinned. "It was more fun than any plan you were going to come up with."

* * *

_Don't forget to drop of a review! You don't have to write a novel, but you know I love to hear from you._


	41. Coat

_A/N: I'm sorry this one is so short, darlings. Again, it was one of the first ones I wrote; I was still finding my 'Royza Rhythm.' Nevertheless, the last line is still one of my favourites. ^^_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Forty-one - Coat**

He had cooled down enough now that he could comfortably put on the jacket of his uniform. Taking it off the back of his chair, Roy hefted the weight of the stiff fabric. Definitely not something one wanted to put on after a workout, but it would be fine an hour after the fact.

Using both hands to swing it around behind himself, he slid his arms into the sleeves, letting the garment settle around his shoulders.

Before it even touched them, he knew something wasn't right. Strange, it hadn't been out of his sight since . . . .

_He watched every sharp jab she threw at the heavy bag, every kick she landed against the smooth leather sides. Braced behind it as he was, there wasn't much else to see._

_At last, Riza took a step back, lowering both hands to her sides. "I think that ought to do it," she said, nodding once in satisfaction. "Thank you for the help, sir."_

_"You did the same for my turn," he said casually, passing her a half-full container of water. "Though remind me to never let you hit me as hard as you hit the bag."_

_One blonde eyebrow lifted. "Why ever would I have cause to hit you, sir? I hope you'd never give me reason to."_

_"I don't plan to."_

_The two of them headed for the changing rooms. Only two weeks ago, when they'd last visited Central, Major Armstrong had shanghaied both of them into a boxing class he taught, to 'boost the attendance.' Neither had expected to actually enjoy it, or end up practicing on their own twice a week. The difference from shooting bullets or sparking flames was . . . refreshing, not to mention the break it provided from work._

_Roy finished showering and re-dressed in his uniform before going to the exit to wait for Riza. Opening the items locker they shared, he removed both their jackets, closed the door, and leaned against it. She joined him just minutes later._

_"Anything interesting scheduled for this afternoon?" he asked, the two of them moving toward the exit._

_"As I recall, you have an appointment with Lieutenant General Grumman for chess at fifteen-hundred," was the prompt answer. Taking her jacket from him, she folded it over one arm. "I've cleared your schedule after that until seventeen-hundred."_

_His eyebrows lifted. "You actually gave me the rest of the afternoon off? What sort of alter ego has replaced you, Lieutenant?"_

_A faint smile quirked the corner of her mouth. "I'm the same as I ever was, sir. As for the time off, your hours will be starting fifteen minutes earlier than usual for the next eight work days to make up for it."_

Shrugging out of the jacket, Roy held it up in front of himself, eyeing it critically. Now that he took a good look at it, he could tell that it was shorter in the torso and sleeves than normal, not to mention considerably smaller. Understanding dawned as he picked out the alterations on the front — ones made to suit the jacket for the female form — as well as the epaulets and absence of service medals.

A knock sounded from the office door, Hawkeye not bothering to wait for an answer before she entered. "Sir, I believe I have something that belongs to you."

Stepping fully inside, she raised both arms slightly to the sides. The sleeves of her jacket fell past her fingertips, flopping comically. The garment itself came nearly halfway down her hips, hanging loosely on her frame.

Grinning, Roy dropped her actual jacket onto his desk. "Would this qualify as impersonating an officer, Lieutenant? Or did you simply want to wear something of mine that badly?" The grin became a lady-killer smile. "For that, all you had to do was ask."

From across the room, the jacket hit him in the face. "You're out of uniform, sir."


	42. Day Off

_A/N: This Snap Shot contains massive amounts of cuteness. You have been warned._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Forty-Two — Day Off**

The door wasn't so much opened as flung wide with enough force to test the limits of its hinges. The two people waiting on the steps looked down in surprise to the pair of wide green eyes staring up at them.

Elicia's happy expression slowly melted away. ". . . You're not Papa . . . ."

"Afraid not, kiddo." Roy gave the daughter of his late best friend an apologetic smile. "But we _are_ here just to visit you. Can we come in?"

The little girl stood to one side, allowing Roy and Riza to enter, just as Gracia arrived in the foyer. Assisting her daughter to close the heavy wooden door, she smiled at the two officers. "Thank you for coming on such short notice; I'm sorry if I dragged you away from anything."

"Not at all; today's a day off for us," Roy assured her, accepting her brief hug. "I asked Hawkeye to come with me because she knows how to deal with kids better than I do."

"Of course." Crouching down to Elicia's level, Gracia indicated the quiet Lieutenant. "Sweetheart, you remember Miss Riza, don't you?"

Elicia nodded solemnly. "She's Unca Roy's friend. If he has to go somewhere, she goes with him." She frowned a little, her gaze going to her mother. "Are they gonna babysit me while you're gone? Why can't I go with you?"

"I'm sorry, honey, but I can't keep an eye on you and get the errands done at the same time. It's a lot of work." She stood, looking over at the other two adults. "I'll be back by about ten tonight. Again, thank you; if I didn't have to go to the next town for all the paperwork for Maes' pension —"

"Don't worry about it," Roy insisted. "Everything will be fine. I swear, Elicia won't even know you're gone."

Five minutes later, with goodbyes said and Gracia away, the three of them stood in the foyer in silence. Elicia watched her babysitters with curiosity; Roy lasted all of ten seconds before looking helplessly to Riza. His expression clearly said, '_What now?_'

Crouching, Riza offered the little girl a smile. "Elicia, I bet you have the nicest house out of any little girl in Central. Do you think you could show me around?"

Those green eyes lit up. "Sure!" Grasping the first two fingers of Riza's hand, Elicia pulled her toward the stairs. "You should come see my room! It's so pretty!"

Allowing herself to be towed along, Riza glanced back at her superior with a knowing smirk. "What are you waiting for, 'Uncle Roy?' You have to come too."

Shaking himself out of a surprise-induced fog, the dark-haired Colonel followed the other two upstairs. Who would have thought that Elicia would take to Riza so quickly?

* * *

"No."

Trying not to sigh in exasperation, Roy set the fork back onto the plate. "Come on, kiddo, you're being silly. I know you like this stuff."

"No means no!" Elicia asserted, folding her little arms and scowling for all she was worth.

Roy looked back over his shoulder to Riza for help; she was in the process of turning back to the sink of dirty dishes. He thought he caught a hint of a smile. Was she laughing at him, for not being able to make a toddler eat her lunch? He turned back to Elicia.

"Tell you what; I'll make a deal with you," he said, lowering his voice. He leaned in close, like he was about to share a secret, and Elicia perked up. What little kid didn't love secrets? "If you eat your lunch without complaining, Riza and I will take you to the park for the rest of the afternoon."

The little girl seemed to seriously consider this for a moment, before breaking into a beaming smile. "Okay! But I have to use the fork myself; only _babies_ let grown-ups feed them."

Roy blinked, then sat back in his chair. "Sure; go for it." He watched as Elicia proudly picked up her fork and started in on the plate of spaghetti. When he was satisfied that she would keep eating, he got up and went to dry the dishes Riza was washing. "What ever happened to 'here comes the choo-choo?'" he muttered, picking up a towel.

Still smiling slightly, Riza passed him the freshly cleaned spaghetti pot. "I'm afraid I have no idea, sir. But I _do_ know that you saying it would cause people to question your sanity."

* * *

"Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee-hee-hee-hee!" Giggling, Elicia reached the bottom of the slide and was caught by a waiting Riza. She scrambled free almost immediately, heading for the ladder to the top. "Again! Again!"

Smiling to herself, Riza held her position, glancing over to check on the Colonel. He was sitting on a bench close by, alternating between taking in the scenery, and watching the two of them. As her gaze caught his, Riza beckoned him over. In the time it took for him to cross the distance, Elicia had slid down and was already going back for another turn.

"Something the matter?" Roy asked, hands in his pockets.

"No, sir." She nodded toward the little girl settling into position at the top of the slide. "But you should be playing with her, too; you're the one that offered to bring her here."

As if she knew she was being talked about, Elicia waved happily. "Catch me, Unca Roy, catch me!" She started her descent too quickly for him to step away. No sooner was she on the ground again than she seized his hand and towed him off toward the swings. "Come on, Unca Roy, you gotta push me on the swings now!"

Finally, when the afternoon of swings, slides, and teeter-totters was over, the three of them began to make their way back. Elicia had hold of Roy's hand again, and held her other one out to Riza. "Auntie Riza, will you hold my hand too?"

Watching as his aide took the little girl's hand, Roy lifted an eyebrow. "Wait a sec, why is she 'auntie' all of a sudden?"

Elicia beamed up at him. "Because you're my unca, and she's always around you. Only married people are around each other that much, so that's gotta mean she's my auntie."

A tinge of red actually seeped onto Roy's face. "Hate to break it to you, kiddo, but Riza isn't married to me."

"Then why are you always together?"

"My job is to keep him out of trouble," Riza explained. "There are a lot of people that don't like Uncle Roy because of his work with the military; I have to look after him and make sure they don't hurt him."

Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, Elicia tugged her hands free of the adults', planted them on her hips, and turned to face her new 'auntie.' The stubborn set of her jaw, Roy noted in amusement, was identical to her father's. "Then you'd better do an extra-good job!" she decided firmly. "'Cause if Unca Roy goes away like my Papa did, you can't be my auntie anymore."

* * *

He exited the little girl's bedroom, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. After three stories, Elicia's eyes had finally started to close. Roy had sat beside her on the bed, as still and quiet as possible, until her deep breathing announced that she was asleep.

Descending the stairs, he moved into the living room; Riza was sitting on one end of the couch, staring vacantly into the lit fireplace with her chin propped on one hand. Roy dropped cross-legged onto the thick rug in front of the hearth, looking up at her.

"What're you thinking about?"

"Just wondering how Fuery's doing; he agreed to housesit for me today so that Black Hayate wouldn't be alone. He couldn't go to the dorms, of course, so I let Kain have my spare key for the day." She stirred, dropping her hand back to her lap as she turned to look at Roy. "Elicia's asleep?"

"Out like a light," he confirmed. Then, with a smile, "She told me to make sure I said goodnight to Auntie Riza."

The smile spread to the blonde Lieutenant. "Maes was a lucky, lucky man."

"Yeah. He was." They lapsed into silence for a brief moment. "Thanks for agreeing to come with me today, Riza. I couldn't have done it without you."

Slipping down off the couch, she settled comfortably beside him on the carpet. "My pleasure. To be honest, I can't think of a better way to spend a day off."


	43. Wind

_A/N: It is so **hard **writing Riza being girly. Even if it's for a legitimate reason and I know she's acting, it's still like "urrrrrgh it's wrooooooooong." Either way, it makes for a change, and we all know she's still her normal self underneath._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Forty-three — Wind**

They looked for all the world like any other couple strolling along the riverside on a sunny summer afternoon. She had one hand tucked in the crook of his arm, the other holding her white sunhat down against the wind. He kept the conversation going, along with the charade, playing the perfect gentleman.

They hadn't had much time between being tasked to follow the man, and actually beginning the job. Military uniforms were out of the question; far too obvious, not to mention intimidating. Civilian clothes would be mandatory.

Roy had been lucky enough to have a pair of dark pants in his locker at headquarters. All he needed to do was trade them for his uniform pants, make sure the legs covered the upper half of his boots, then take off his jacket for just the white shirt underneath. Instant civilian.

Borrowing his car, Riza had gone home and come back in under twenty minutes. She'd traded in her uniform for a lavender-coloured shirt, a soft white bolero jacket, and a knee-length dark gray skirt that was divided two-thirds of the way up the side. She had walked back into the office as though nothing was different, ignoring the fact that all five men turned to stare at her.

Roy was still taking advantage of any window they walked past to look at her. He had to remind himself that she wasn't Riza at this moment . . . her mindset was that of "Elizabeth," a shopowner in Central and one of the names in Colonel Mustang's notorious little black book.

Looking away from a window, and the curvy form on his reflection's arm, he scanned the people ahead, searching for the white fedora among the other heads and hats. He frowned slightly. ". . . . Where'd he go?"

"He's over by the bridge, near the water," Riza murmured back, the words muffled just slightly by the wind. "He could have a contact waiting for him under it."

"Hmm. Good point." Looking around the area, Roy nudged her toward the bridge. "Come on; we'll be able to see him better if we're closer to the water."

"Closer to the water?" she repeated, lifting one eyebrow. "Four words I never thought I'd hear you say."

"Very funny," he muttered, as they stepped onto the roughly squared-off rocks at the riverside. "Maybe I should just push you in."

"Just watch the target." Switching from the momentary lapse to her usual self back into her covert persona, Riza slipped her feet out of her shoes and set them to one side. Settling down onto the sun-warmed stone, she extended first one foot, then the other into water flowing by. "Ooh! It's cold!"

Roy, watching the man in the fedora as he leaned against the side of the bridge — clearly waiting for someone or something — glanced down as 'Elizabeth' leaned back against his leg. Smiling, watching as she gently kicked her feet in the water, he opened his mouth to make a comment . . . .

And froze as a sudden gust of wind caught the open side of her skirt and flipped the edge up.

It seemed to him that it went in slow motion; he felt his eyes widen as he stared. He'd seen her wear skirts before, but to see this much of her skin at once and around his weak point, no less. . . . Roy twitched slightly, eyes glued to the edge of dark fabric _underneath_ the skirt at thigh level. He was at the wrong angle to be able to confirm what his mind wanted desperately to believe . . . but what else was there to wear under clothes like that?

'Elizabeth' giggled. "Whoops!" Catching the hem, she smoothed it down over her knees again. "I guess that's what I get for wearing a skirt on a windy day." She looked up him, not even blushing. ". . . . Roy? Is something wrong?"

". . . No. Sorry, I was just . . . thinking." He tore his gaze away, looking back to the man in the fedora. Another man, dressed in a plain, light brown trenchcoat had come up beside him and was leaning against the wall as well. Even at this distance, Roy could just make out moving lips as the newcomer spoke. "I'm thinking that I know those two men over there."

"Oh, really? Well, we should go say hello." Getting back to her feet, 'Elizabeth' put on her shoes, then looked to him. When he glanced her way, she was giving him a half-amused smile that was pure Riza. She lowered her voice so only he could hear. "Don't get too excited about what just happened."

He immediately looked away, knowing even that small action made him look guilty. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"You didn't see what you thought you saw," she continued. "I'm wearing shorts underneath this, sir."


	44. Hair

_A/N: All done school for another year; I've got one website due for my Coding class on Wednesday, but other than that, I'm home for the next four months. No wonder I like college better than high school!_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Forty-four - Hair**

Something was different . . . .

Sitting at his desk, chin propped in one hand, Lieutenant-Colonel Roy Mustang watched the office in front of his desk and movements of the people within it. Fuery was kneeling on the floor, up to his elbows in the innards of a radio transceiver, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. Falman was signing off on a stack of reports, taking the time to read each one thoroughly. No doubt looking for spelling or grammar mistakes. Breda stared blankly at the papers in front of him, absentmindedly chewing the eraser of the pencil in his hand. Havoc had that morning's newspaper open on his desk, an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

At her desk, Riza was working at filling out forms sent down that morning from Grumman's office. Roy's eyes narrowed slightly; the sense of difference was definitely coming from her . . . but what was it?

"Hawkeye?" Waiting until she looked up, he motioned her over. When she stopped beside him seconds later, he kept his voice quiet. "Is there something going on that I don't know about? Is something bothering you?"

She gave him a quizzical frown. ". . . Not to my knowledge, sir. Why do you ask?"

Roy regarded her carefully for another moment, before waving her question away. "Never mind; I guess my mind is playing tricks on me."

"I see." Setting a piece of paper on his desk, one that she'd brought over when he called, she pointed to the bottom. "This needs your signature, as well as the date you signed."

He shook his head with a faint smile, reaching out to pick up his pen. "Still business as usual . . . ." Leaning forward, he checked the date on his desk calendar . . . and paused. "Wait a minute . . . ." Spinning back around, he stood, eyes going to her hair.

If she was surprised by the sudden odd behaviour, it didn't show in her expression. "Is there something else, sir?"

"Once a month, on the tenth, you take an hour and go get your hair cut," he said, studying the slightly longer hair at the back of her head. "But this month you didn't, and you still haven't gone. I _thought_ something seemed different about you."

She seemed more confused than anything else, now. "Is there a problem with me growing my hair out, sir? I checked with the regulations just to be sure, but —"

Roy shook his head with a smile. "It's no problem. It'll be a different look for you, but I think it'll be a good one."

"Thank you, sir." Riza gave a small, close-mouthed smile. "That form still needs your signature."

He rolled his eyes but dropped back into his chair. "You're an absolute slavedriver sometimes, you know that?" Quickly scrawling his name and the date on the appropriate lines, he passed the paper back to her. ". . . Incidentally, what made you decide to grow your hair out?"

Brown eyes briefly checked over the form. "That little girl in Resembool, when we went looking for the Elric brothers . . . she had long blonde hair, and it looked quite pretty. It got me thinking that my own style might be due for a change." Turning, she headed back to her desk, signalling an end to the conversation. "I'll just have to wait and see if I like it."

Roy watched her for a moment longer, trying to picture the change. With short hair, it had always shown her tomboy side, but that was the ruling mentality from her teenage years, one that didn't quite fit the woman she'd grown to be. Knowing her the way he did, Roy strongly believed that long hair would be just another thing to love about her.


	45. Awakening

_Not much in the way of witticism this week, my lovelies. Instead, lets get right to the good stuff._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Forty-five - Awakening**

The whisper of air against his arm told him she was there, and a moment later, he was inhaling the smell of freshly-brewed coffee. But he couldn't give in just yet.

"C'mon, Hawkeye, just five more minutes."

"I'm sorry, sir, it's now or never," she answered. The steam curling around his face disappeared as she moved the mug of coffee away. "You and I both know that if you don't get up now, there'll be hell to pay when you show up late at the office."

"If it's now or never, I'll take the never," he grumbled, turning over so that he was face-down in the pillow.

Weight settled onto the couch beside him, and a hand patted him soothingly on the shoulder. "I told you not to stay up with your research last night," she admonished, though he could hear her smile in her voice. "You should have listened to me, sir." The hand began moving in small circles, rubbing the ache from his shoulders.

He sighed. "Keep going; that feels great."

"It's what you get from sitting at your desk until all hours of the night." She wasn't scolding now; there was genuine concern, and he knew why.

Turning his head, he opened one eye to look at her. "I'm not turning into your father, Riza."

Her hand stopped, shifted to brush along his hair. ". . . . I know." There was a clack as she set the mug on the floor, freeing both hands to take up the massaging action again. Neither of them spoke, content in the companionable silence. After several minutes, she leaned forward, lips brushing gently against his temple.

Eyes closed again, Roy smiled. "Awww, done already?"

Wordlessly, she held the coffee cup out to him again; he rolled onto his back and took it, inhaling deeply as he took the first sip.

She was already dressed, having come here from her own apartment for the sole purpose of waking him. He could see her jacket draped over the opposite end of the couch near his feet, her hair clip sitting on top of it. Peeking over the rim of his mug, he stole a glance at her.

The tucked-in black shirt did more to show her curves than the rest of her uniform, and the long hair falling down her back was picking up little glints of light from the window. She sat with her chin propped in one hand, looking off across the room, no doubt running the day's agenda through her head. Those whisky-brown eyes blinked once, then shifted his direction as she caught him looking at her.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Something I can help you with, sir?"

Coffee half-gone, he reached down and set the mug back on the floor. "First of all, you can stop calling me 'sir' at six in the morning," he growled, even though he was wearing a smile of his own. "And second —" Catching her by the arm, he tugged gently. "— you can come here."

She allowed herself to pulled down next to him, tucking the top of her head under his chin. One hand held onto his arm to keep herself from falling off the limited space available on the couch. On direct eye level with the white collar, she frowned. "Isn't this the same shirt you were wearing yesterday?"

"Yeah," he said sheepishly. "I was too tired to change before I fell asleep last night."

"Poor thing." Pulling her head back, she sent him a half-amused smile. "You realize that it _is_ your own fault, right?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mother."

"I'd really rather not be your mother, Roy. That would make this whole situation incredibly awkward."

Roy snorted quietly, grinning. "Smart-ass." He leaned forward, still smiling even as his lips found hers. The hand on his arm slid underneath it and around to his back, bringing her closer to him. He inhaled the mix of coffee, vanilla-scented soap, and brown sugar that was Riza Hawkeye, feeling a little shiver go up his spine. He _loved_ that smell.

All too soon, she broke contact and extricated herself from him. "Time's up, Roy." She glanced back over her shoulder, moving toward the dresser in the corner. "Are you awake now?"

"If I'm not, then this is one dream I'd rather keep having," he countered, smirking smugly. Dark eyes followed every movement as she walked. "Are you _sure _we have to go to work?" His only answer was his uniform jacket and a clean shirt hitting him in the face from across the room.


	46. All Night Vigil Sleepless Night

_A/N: I'm getting so excited for the con I go to at the end of this month. A miniskirt for my Riza cosplay is in the works, and my gun is halfway constructed. _

_I get to wear high heels. There's a pool to see how long I last before taking a bad step and breaking my ankle. : )_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Forty-six - All-night Vigil**

Water splashed into the bowl as Riza wrung out the washcloth for what was probably the fiftieth time. Folding the material into a long strip, she turned and laid it across Roy's forehead, pushing back the damp strands of hair clinging to his skin. He frowned a little, muttering something before falling silent again. Standing on his hind legs, front paws braced on the side of the couch, Black Hayate nosed Roy's hand and gave a soft whine.

With a quiet sigh, Riza sat back in her chair, drying her hands on a towel. For almost twenty-four hours, he'd been like this. Alternating between sweating and shivering, a fever rising to 102 degrees, and the quiet muttering were the constants at the moment.

She glanced at the clock; 19:47. She'd been at Roy's side since 10:00 that morning, half an hour after he'd called in to the office. His voice had been slurred, but it was the actual attempt at apology that told Riza he wasn't just hungover. When _those _calls happened, Roy never apologized. He just mumbled into the phone long enough to say he'd be late, and hung up without so much as a goodbye.

This time, he'd mumbled, but in a way that told her something was very, very wrong.

Across the room, the phone rang, causing her to jump. Roy frowned again, but didn't stir. Rising quietly, Riza slipped across the hardwood floor to pick up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"_Hey, Hawkeye!_" The cheery voice of Maes Hughes fairly exploded out of the earpiece. "_Oooooh, so you're at Roy's, huh? I didn't interrupt anything, did I?_"

She didn't rise to the bait. "Not at all, sir. But if you were hoping to speak to the Colonel, he's incapacitated at the moment." She glanced back over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't disturbing the man in question. "He's come down with a cold, I'm afraid."

"_Must be pretty bad for you to be there looking after him,_" Maes said seriously. The frown on his face was audible. "_How long has he been down for?_"

"He seemed all right when he left the office yesterday; it must have hit since then," Riza explained, leaning against the wall. "Is there something I can help you with, Lieutenant-Colonel? Did you want to leave a message?"

"_Nah, that's okay._" The casualness seemed forced now, without the carefree cheer behind it. "_Just let Roy know I called, huh? Have him call me when he's feeling better._"

"Understood, sir."

"_Good; thank you. And, Hawkeye?_" There was a pause. "_Tell him he needs to get himself a wife._" Click.

Dropping the receiver back into its cradle, Riza turned away, shaking her head at Hughes' antics. He really never changed. However, right now she had other things to worry about.

Such as the man now peering blearily at her from the couch. Roy blinked twice. ". . . Riza? What are you doing here?"

She resumed her seat, pushing his shoulder back to the cushions as he tried to sit up. "Looking after you, sir. Your cold has a good hold on you; you've been in bed with a fever all day."

Dark eyes looked up from under the washcloth, studying her with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. "And you've been here looking after me? All day?"

"Yes, sir."

Roy grinned, pulling the washcloth away from his forehead to see her better. "And you didn't try to take advantage of me? You've got such a strong sense of self-control, Riza." He snickered to himself.

Taking the washcloth from his hand, the blonde Lieutenant dipped it into the cool water again and wrung it out. "You don't know what you're saying, Colonel."

The grin became dangerously confident, despite the fever still burning in the dark eyes. His hand caught her by the wrist, the grip lacking any real strength. "But I _want_ you to take advantage of me. Can't be that bad if I _want_ it, can it?"

Unfazed, Riza tugged free of his fingers and dropped the washcloth back across his eyes with a soft, wet _slap!_. "It would still be pretty bad, sir. Please, try and be quiet for a while."

He was . . . for all of fifteen seconds. "I've been quiet all day. Unless I was talking in my sleep?"

"Just muttering a little bit." She leaned back in her chair, reaching for the book she'd set aside to re-dampen the washcloth. "It seems you were dreaming."

"I was." Roy frowned, pausing for a moment. "We were at the office, but . . . I think it was under attack. By . . . frogs. And one frog . . . ." He reached up, pulling the cloth away from wide, concerned eyes. "One frog had an eyepatch and used swords!"

"You dreamed the Führer was a frog?" Riza clarified, having to try hard not to smile, now.

"Pretty much . . . . " Roy was staring at the ceiling, presumably trying to remember. "And then Fullmetal showed up, but he was a giant. Kept trying to step on me." He scowled. "He kept asking how I could be Führer someday if I was so short."

That caused a small smile on the blonde Lieutenant's face. "Go back to sleep, sir."

Despite his protests, Roy fell asleep again within minutes.

* * *

His fever spiked again shortly after midnight. Riza had collected two thick blankets and a pillow, fashioning a makeshift bed on the floor for herself; one of these days, she was going to ignore all his comments and innuendo and force him to buy an actual bed. A cold nose touched her cheek; Hayate whined quietly as her eyes opened before looking anxiously toward the couch.

Roy had rolled onto his side, facing the back of the couch. He was shivering again, and muttering more intensely than before. Riza stepped quickly across to him and reached out to touch his shoulder. "Colonel?"

He didn't change position; his eyes stayed firmly closed.

Expression sympathetic, Riza sat down on the edge of the cushions. She pulled on his shoulder, rolling him onto his back again, and readjusted the covers up around his chest. When he frowned at the movements, she reached out and brushed hair out of his eyes.

Roy turned his head to one side, beginning to mutter again. Riza leaned close, trying to hear the words.

"Don't want to . . . it'll hurt so much . . . . Don't ask me to . . . ." A soft sigh. "Riza . . . . I could never do such a thing."

She stiffened, and slowly drew back. He was dreaming, obviously, which wasn't out of the ordinary with a fever. But the last time she'd heard him say those exact words . . . . Her hand went to her left shoulder, and the burn scar on the back of it, just as his eyes opened.

He wasn't awake, that much was clear from the glassy-eyed expression. He blinked slowly. ". . . Do they hurt?"

"What?"

Fumbling one hand out from under the blankets, he reached up to touch her shoulder. "The burns. Do they hurt?"

Riza shook her head, covering his hand with hers. "Not anymore, sir. It's all right; it happened a long time ago; they're completely healed over."

"I feel so bad about it," he muttered, his eyes already starting to drift closed again.

"Don't." She laid his hand on top of the blankets, and stood. Re-dampening the washcloth from earlier, she wrung it out, folded it, and put it in place on his forehead before resuming her earlier seat. His hand rested at his side and she hesitated only briefly before reaching out to wrap her fingers around his.

Until his fever broke and even after, when he was healthy again, she would watch over him.


	47. In the Dead of Night

_A/N: Another early oneshot, written with much inspiration taken from real life. Ladies, you'll be well familiar with the agony of trying to fall asleep while feeling like something is clawing at your insides. Gentlemen: y'all just don't get it. _

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Forty-seven - In The Dead of Night**

She'd been lying here for hours, shifting position every ten minutes or so, trying to find a position that was comfortable. Unfortunately, blankets on the floor of Roy's apartment were anything but. Granted, he had been nice enough to offer her a place for the night while her building was being fumigated, but between the makeshift bed and other, more personal issues, sleep continued to elude her.

Riza grimaced as her stomach twisted with the cramps she felt, one arm snugged tightly across her abdomen against the ache. Another ache, this one more psychological, curled itself around her heart.

It had been six years ago this very night that she had first arrived in Ishval. It had been dark, the oppressive heat just beginning to fade as night fell. It hit her like a wall as she stepped out of the cool interior of the truck. Sweat immediately prickled at the back of her neck and under her uniform —

Kicking her blanket aside, Riza abandoned all attempts at sleep. Hayate briefly lifted his head from the floor as she rose, but a gesture sent him back to his own rest. Padding softly across to the balcony, Riza unlocked the sliding door and stepped out into the night air.

It was humid, almost as warm as the Ishvalan desert. Lightning flickered periodically across the sky to the dull rumble of distant thunder; a storm was slowly coming. The heat somehow soothed her twisting insides, lessening the pain.

Folding her arms on the railing, she stared out across the sleeping city. It simply wasn't fair, that everyone else was resting peacefully except for her. Instead, she was alone on her superior's balcony in her pajamas, at just after midnight.

"Riza?" Hair in more disarray than usual, Roy appeared in the doorway, frowning sleepily out at her. "What are you doing out here? I thought you were asleep hours ago."

"I could say the same for you." Turning away from the railing, she faced him with her hands at her sides. "It's just a little insomnia; I'll be all right. Go back to bed."

"Insomnia?" His frown deepened as he instantly became more alert. "From what? What's wrong?" Their surroundings brightened in a brief flash of lightning, followed only seconds later by the thunder. Rain began to pitter down, creating a background noise like constant radio static. When Riza didn't say anything, Roy did. "Come on – if something's bothering you, just tell me."

She shifted slightly. ". . . . Six years ago."

". . . Oh." His gaze dropped to the ground, understanding fading rapidly into his own personal guilt.

Turning away, she watched the growing storm. He stepped up beside her to do the same. Standing in silence, they listened to the rain's strength grow and diminish as the wind toyed with it. The air became even thicker with humidity.

"We should go back inside," Roy prompted quietly, long minutes later. "We'll get hit by lightning, standing out here." He took Riza by the arm, guiding her back toward the door. She followed wordlessly.

Hayate got to his feet, padding across to his mistress with a soft whine. His cold nose nudged her leg before she reached down to pick him up. Settling him against her shoulder, Riza gave a half-smile. "I'll say it again — go back to bed. You've got a meeting with the attaché from Departmental Services in the morning, and you'll need to be as awake as possible. I'm told he's a sly operator."

"Sly doesn't stand a chance against smooth," Roy smirked. That faded all too quickly as he rested a hand on her shoulder. "Make sure you get some sleep too; I'll need your help if the attaché is really that bad." He hesitated. "Do you want to switch? I know you said you didn't care, but if it'll help —"

"I'll be fine. Good night."

"Night, Riza."

Setting Hayate down, she curled up on the blankets again, doing her best to ignore the returning ache in her abdomen. The little dog whined softly, pawing gently at her ankle. When she didn't respond, he settled down at her feet.

Hours ticked by, but sleep refused to come. Stealthily casting a glance at Roy, making sure he was asleep this time, Riza got up again, moving into the middle of the living area and beginning to stretch. Hayate blinked sleepily at her, then returned his head to his paws. She lost herself in the rhythm of her routine, measuring the time to hold a position in heartbeats.

A quiet sigh came from the couch as she started over for the fifth time. She looked up to find Roy watching her, arms folded behind his head. "You know, if you'd told me that you planned on pulling an all-nighter anyway, I'd have suggested you bring work home with you."

She climbed to her feet. "Sorry that I woke you; I wasn't aware that I was making noise."

"You weren't. I woke up on my own." Sitting up and dropping his feet to the floor, he braced his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. "What can I do to help you? It's three in the morning; we both need to be up in another three. You should at least get _some_ rest before then, and I'll do whatever I can to make it happen."

"You can stop worrying about me," Riza said curtly, folding her arms. "I'm a big girl, Colonel; worry about yourself."

With a quiet sigh, Roy shook his head. "Stubborn as always . . . ." He patted the cushion next to him; she crossed to the couch and sat. Neither spoke for a moment, listening to the still-falling rain outside. The thunder and lightning had long since passed.

"Seems to me this sort of thing happens to you once a year," he said finally. When she looked over at him, he shrugged. "There's one day, at the same time every year, when you come into the office like you're planning to slam a bullet into the first person who looks at you the wrong way." His eyes slid sideways toward her, brows lifting. "It's that time of year, Riza."

"I hadn't realized you were so observant," she said blandly, eyes fixed on the floor.

She tensed as his arm settled around her shoulders, pulling her lightly against his side as he settled deeper into the soft couch. ". . . . This smacks of fraternization, Roy. What are you doing?"

The smirk was practically audible. "It's nothing of the sort – aren't I allowed to comfort somebody in my command when they're obviously torn up over something?" A slight pause. "Besides, if you're so worried about the fraternization laws, why didn't you call me 'sir?'"

"I was too busy being comforted."

Letting herself relax, Riza felt her eyes drift closed. Roy's head leaned against hers. It had been like this once in Ishval, on a night when they'd been posted to the same watch. Sitting back to back, trying to conserve heat in the chilling desert night. Sleep taken in turns, comfort taken in the presence of another person.

In six years, the ghosts of that war were enough to keep a person awake through the dead of night, unless or until a coping mechanism arrived.


	48. Side of Face

_A/N: Because no one touches Riza Hawkeye. _

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Forty-Eight - Side of Face**

With the sound of a heavy slap echoing in the air, the woman fell to the floor. She made no attempt to defend herself, didn't make any noise of pain or protest. The man who had struck her towered over his victim, glaring through glassy and bloodshot eyes, the five men at the bar behind him applauding him with loud hoots and cheers.

"Stupid, I told you I didn't want to leave yet," the man slurred. "Should've listened, shouldn't you." When she didn't answer except for a nod, he bent, shoving his thickly bearded face close to hers. "I'll let you off with just a smack this time; don't wanna damage that pretty face."

Taking her roughly by the arm, he hauled her upright, then turned her and gave her a none-too-gentle push toward the door. "Go on, girl. I'll find you later, when I'm done here."

The woman quietly left the barroom, to the raucous laughter of the men at their ringleader's suggestion.

* * *

The door hadn't even fully closed behind her before someone caught hold of Riza's hand, pulling her into the shadows. A pair of hands spun her around, bringing her face-to-face with a rather agitated Roy Mustang. He said nothing, dark eyes searching out the slowly reddening mark on her cheek before they narrowed angrily.

". . . . That's it. Mission over." He dropped his hands to his sides, turning to make for the entrance to the bar. "I don't care what happens, I'm putting a stop to this."

"No." She got a grip on the sleeve of his coat, pulling him back. "Sir, I know you don't like this, but —"

"'Don't like' is putting it mildly," he growled, still glaring at the door. "I'm not just going to stand here and let this happen to you, Hawkeye; it's not _right_!"

Riza shook her head. "Sir, right now, the thing we need most is to get evidence against Morrison. If that means one or two taps to the face, so be it."

For a long moment, Roy just stared at her. "Are you _insane_?! He's an _abuser_, Hawkeye! You're _lucky_ if he only hits you once!" His arm shot out, pointing toward the door. "If he gets pissed off enough, and he takes it out on you? He'll beat you senseless! You think I want that to happen to you?!"

Folding her arms stubbornly, Riza held his gaze. "I know you don't _want_ it to, but you might _have_ to let it happen," she said flatly. "Does the phrase 'taking one for the team' mean anything to you?"

His glare grew hotter, teeth clenching briefly. "That has nothing to do with this situation," he ground out. "How many times are you just going to turn the other cheek? How long are you going to let him just walk all over you?"

"As long as I need to," she said softly, her expression a perfect mask of stoic resignation. "Just bear with me, all right? I'll be okay." Hidden by the shadows, she reached out and curled her fingers around his. "There's nothing he can throw at me that's worse than Ishval. I've gotten past stronger pain before."

He knew she was referring to the burn scars on her back, and grimaced at the reminder. "This is different," he insisted quietly. "You know that doing that scarred me as much as it did you, but Morrison doesn't care how much he hurts you. If I'd known before we sent you in undercover that this would happen —"

"Then we would only have had this argument sooner." Brown eyes watched him intensely. "Think of it this way, sir: even if all our other evidence against him falls through, every time I get hit is another count of assaulting a military officer. If we can't nail him for gun-running, we'll get him another way." Her fingers tightened on his. "I promise."

Feeling helpless, Roy stood there watching her for another moment before sighing. "Dammit, Riza . . . ." He ran a hand back through his hair. "All right. You win. But we're going to end this tonight, come Hell or high water. We've almost got the evidence we need; just give Morrison that extra little push. I want this over with, understood?"

"Absolutely." The corner of her mouth curled in a determined smirk. "He'll be in custody by midnight."

* * *

She was sitting relaxed on the plush cushions of the couch when she heard the sound of a key in the front door's lock. Her eyes snapped away from her book, up toward the entrance, suddenly highly alert. Stumbling, shuffling footsteps sounded from the foyer, along with slurred mumbling. Morrison had arrived.

Dropping the leather-bound book to the cushions at her hip, Riza slid her legs over the side, getting to her feet. "Game on," she murmured, knowing the tiny microphone on the inside of her shirt collar would relay the words to Fuery. The bespectacled young man would then pass them on to the rest of the team, and keep them apprised of the situation, recording every second of conversation between her and Morrison.

The second they had verbal evidence of his gun-running, they would make a move.

Riza moved to the doorway of the safehouse's living room, feigning sleepiness as she leaned on the white-trimmed frame. "Hey," she smiled, eyes at half-mast. "Did you have a good time?"

Pausing in the act of trying to drunkenly untie his boots, Morrison looked up; his eyes travelled the length of her —head to toe and back again — as a slow grin spread across his red face. "Yeah, it was all right." The words were slightly garbled by the alcohol he'd consumed; Riza hoped they would still be understandable in the recording. "You been waiting up this whole time?"

"Mmhmm. You said you'd come find me when you were done." She gave a small smile, drowsy air morphing slowly into allure as she leaned forward. "Looks like you kept your promise."

His hand, lazily reaching toward her, paused. "You saying I can't? Can't keep one little promise?"

She moved one shoulder in a shrug. "You broke a promise last week. We were supposed to go out for dinner, and you stood me up, remember?"

"Baby, that was _business_." Morrison's hand dropped back to his side, and he paused to kick his boots off before getting to his feet. "Business just happens. And I told you I was sorry."

"I know, it's just . . . ." She bit her lower lip, shifting in staged uncertainty. "We've been together for over three weeks now, and you still haven't told me what you actually _do_. You always just say 'business.' Why can't you tell me?"

He shrugged. "It's just business, babe; don't worry about it. It's a job that gives me the cash to take you nice places. Don't question it." He held his arms out, as though asking for a hug. "C'mere. Let me take your mind off it."

Riza saw it coming, but she stepped toward him anyway. It wasn't surprising to her when, for the second time that night, Morrison backhanded her across the face; she went with the motion, letting herself fall to the floor. He leaned over her, alcohol heavy on his breath. "That's for questioning me, and for saying I can't keep my promises," he hissed.

She sat up carefully, experimentally clenching and unclenching an aching jaw. "It was one little question," she said, half under her breath.

Morrison's foot connected painfully with her hip, drawing an involuntary 'unh' from her. "You really wanna know?!" he snapped, drawing his foot back and striking again. "Fine! I've got business contacts across the entire Southern region, and a couple in the West just for good measure!" He reached for her, but Riza scrambled back.

"My boys sell guns to both sides of the conflict, at a discount!" He advanced, pushing a chair out of the way; it toppled to the floor. "'Course we have to charge them a _little_ more on top of that, since the guns aren't exactly _legal_. But none of that matters; they're just happy they can keep killing people."

Riza's back hit the wall, and Morrison grinned. "And me? I'm the boss, of course. Sorry if I can't turn that off when I get back to you, sweet thing, but that's just the way it goes."

Reaching down, he caught her by the ankle and pulled; she slid forward, and was pinned beneath him on the floor in the next second. Beady, glassy eyes watched for a brief second. ". . . Why don't you look scared?"

"Because simple-minded bullies like you aren't enough to scare me," she said flatly, her expression deadpan and dangerous. "I've dealt with morons like you for years, and not a single one has ever managed to break me down. You can get off me now."

Rage contorted Morrison's face, and he drew back a fist. "You little bitch!"

"Wouldn't do that if I were you," a new voice advised from the doorway. Morrison twisted to find the silhouette of a man in the doorway, face hidden in shadow, hands tucked casually in the front pockets of his pants. "Hit her again, and you'll answer to me. Understood?"

"Yeah?" Morrison sneered. "And why don't you just mind your own business? Or do you want me to sue you for trespassing instead?"

"I'd like to see you try. This house is technically military property: it's a safehouse that our undercover agent passed off as her own. As a member of the team investigating your "business," I have full access to said safehouse." Stepping forward into the light, Roy gave his opponent a glare that was pure hatred and unmitigated fury. "Get. The _hell_. Off _my_ Lieutenant."

For a brief moment Morrison hesitated, then climbed slowly to his feet. "You're an investigator?"

"Well . . . ." Roy smiled modestly, shrugging expansively. "Not officially. But when it comes to nailing your ass to the wall for gun-running in East Headquarters' back yard? Sure. I'll investigate that. And _did. I. Mention._" The smile disappeared, the glare returned. "The lady you were so intent on knocking around just now is a military officer and veteran assigned to my direct command. And I take it _very _personally when someone treats her like you did."

Morrison glanced behind him to where Riza, on her feet, was brushing herself off in a dignified manner. "So she's military . . . . And she just let me knock her around?" He snorted in derision, looking back to Roy. "Some soldier. Knew you uniforms weren't that tough."

_Ka-chak_. He glanced behind him again to find the blonde woman stone-faced, examining the gun that had suddenly appeared in her hand with great interest. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Morrison, but by being able to withstand your 'knocking . . .'" Her eyes came up, blank, but no less deadly than her commander's. "I would say that qualifies me as at least a little tougher than any other unfortunate woman you've struck."

The cornered gun-runner's head swivelled back and forth, between the quietly seething woman behind him, and the equally angry — though still almost nonchalant — man in the doorway. Choosing the apparent lesser of two evils, he bolted, hurling his muscular mass in Roy's direction.

Calmly stepping to one side, the dark-haired alchemist watched his would-be attacker barrel past, his expression going blank. His right hand withdrew from his pocket, and a split-second later, there was a fateful snap of fingers. Flame zigzagged through the air like red-gold lightning, striking the back of Morrison's left calf just as he reached the edge of the porch. With a noise somewhere between a yelp and a squeal, the imposing man toppled to the dirt.

"I thought you said he'd be in custody by midnight," Roy quipped, watching as Riza stepped toward him, casually flicking her bangs out of her eyes.

"It's not _my_ arrival that that timeline was hingeing on," she replied. "I couldn't predict that he'd stay out drinking until two in the morning, now could I?"

The two soldiers moved unhurriedly onto the porch, though Roy's fingers were in position for a second snap, and Riza held her gun ready to bring up and fire at a split-second's notice. Morrison clutched his leg, teeth clenched in pain from the burn, huffing as though he'd run a mile.

"It's not that serious." Roy's voice was cold, his blanked expression beginning to once again show the contempt he felt. "You'll walk to your trial."

"And I'll walk free when it's over," Morrison spat, glaring up at the two of them. "There's no witnesses. My boys won't rat me out."

"They won't need to," Riza informed him. Lifting one hand, she pulled the tiny microphone from inside her shirt collar, holding it up for him to see. "We have your recorded confession of illegal activity, and that gives us reason to search any space that belongs to you. Home, office, vehicle — anything. And let's face it: you're not bright enough to have your evidence hidden away _that_ well."

A humourless smile tugged at Roy's mouth. "And then there are the charges of assaulting a military officer. That's just as bad as attacking the police. Even if you don't get jail time for that, I understand the fine is . . . substantial."

Morrison's eyes tracked between them. ". . . . And what if I co-operate? Could I get a deal?"

A pair of hard, jet-black eyes seemed to glare right through his skull. "Not a chance."


	49. Cold Hands

_A/N: I have returned, from Anime North! My Riza cosplay was a huge success, as was my boyfriend as Roy Mustang. For those of you not in the know, I was cosplaying both usual-uniform Riza, as well as a miniskirt version. My high heels for the miniskirt shredded my feet, but every 'oh my gosh,' 'look at that' and smile I got made it WELL worth the pain. Can't wait to do it all again next year!_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Forty-nine - Cold Hands**

She looked up, as had become her every-twenty-minutes habit, to find him, as had become his every-fifteen-minutes habit, face-down on his desk yet again. "Sir, if you drool on that paperwork, you'll just have to start it all over again."

When he didn't move, Hawkeye got to her feet. The other men in the office all looked surreptitiously from her to the Colonel. Trouble was brewing, and nobody wanted to miss the fallout. _Anything_ to break up the routine of a dull work day. Four pairs of eyes watched as the Lieutenant approached their superior's desk.

"Sir, if you have this much trouble staying awake, perhaps you should consider getting checked out by the infirmary."

Even at the close range of her voice, Mustang didn't stir, except his head lolling to one side. He was well and truly asleep this time.

"If it is something he's got, it could be hypothyroidism," Fuery offered. "My mother has it. Symptoms include fatigue, cold intolerance, paleness —"

Falman frowned. "I don't think that's it. The symptoms also include poor muscle tone, weight gain, water retention, constipation -"

"Too much information," Breda groaned, covering his ears.

"I hope it's mono," Havoc muttered darkly. "Serve him right."

"Enough." Hawkeye's voice broke through the speculation, bringing the men's attention back to her. She'd moved behind the Colonel's desk, one hand raised in preparation to touch him on the shoulder. "I was being sarcastic; he doesn't have any mysterious illness."

Her hand lowered, two fingers pressed against the exposed skin of Roy's neck. For a full second, nothing happened. Then, all at once, he sat up ramrod-straight, giving vent to a panicked yelp. Hawkeye's hand dropped back to her side as her satisfied smile appeared.

"Oh, good. You're awake." She tapped a small stack on the desk top. "These need your signature before fourteen-hundred today, sir. You have twenty minutes, and then Fuery can take them to the main Administration office." Turning, she went back to her own desk.

Rubbing the back of his neck with a shiver, Roy reluctantly picked up the first paper. "I really wish you wouldn't do that, Lieutenant. It feels like you put an ice cube on me."

"I'd apologize, sir, but I don't want to seem insincere."

Falman glanced between Colonel and Lieutenant, seeming confused. "If you don't mind my asking, sir . . . what exactly did she do?"

Roy's eyes narrowed. "You've obviously never had the displeasure of finding out what the Lieutenant's Death Hands feel like. Pray that you never do."

"Sir, I think you're being a little dramatic," Hawkeye said calmly, resuming her seat. "It isn't that bad." No one paid any attention to the comment; they'd all become extremely tuned to what Roy was saying, the second the words 'Death Hands' left his mouth.

"What are . . . 'Death Hands?'" Fuery asked, tone suggesting that he didn't quite want to know.

Sitting back in his chair, Roy folded his arms with a scowl. "For as long as I've known her, Lieutenant Hawkeye has had abnormally cold hands. Even in summer, one touch is enough to make somebody shiver." He paused for a moment. "Only dead people have colder hands than that."

"Dramatic," Riza murmured, only half to herself. Again, her words went ignored in the scraping of chairs across the floor. The four men drifted toward Roy's desk, intent on hearing the rest of this horror story.

"One time," Roy continued, ignoring the comment, "in Ishval, she had to hold a gauze patch against a wound on my arm. Even with something between her hand and me, I could feel it." He leaned forward a little, staring down his captivated audience. "I swear, she chilled my soul."

"_It would explain so much._"

Jumping at the sudden, louder-than-usual comment, the knot of men turned to look at an irritated Lieutenant Hawkeye. Her finger rose, pointing in the general direction of their seats.

"Your desks are over there." They looked to her finger, then beat a hasty retreat as the story caught up to real life. With a quiet sigh of exasperation, Riza returned to her work. Silence descended on the office once again, broken only by the scribble of pens.

Riza had, however, developed a tendency to sign her name with a little more repressed rage than usual. Her pen made an extra-loud scratch every time, eventually attracting Roy's attention. Propping his chin in one hand, he watched as she did it twice more.

"Lieutenant, you're going to kill the pen."

Her gaze shot sideways toward him, briefly, before she resumed her work, more calmly than before. "I would think the pen is already dead, Colonel. After all, it's suffered severe exposure to my Death Hands, hasn't it?"


	50. Fingertips

_A/N: Going to watch Star Trek: Into Darkness on Saturday night became a game of 'how many ways can we mess up Benedict Cumberbatch's name?' I think the leader so far is "Bumpersticker Cabbagepatch."_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Fifty - Fingertips**

"Colonel?"

"Mmmmmph . . . ." He lifted his head, blinking owlishly. "Wha — did I fall asleep?"

Hawkeye was watching him from the driver's seat, frowning in concern. "I think so . . . . Sir, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he muttered, dragging a hand across his face. "I'm awake now, really." Looking out the window, he saw the front of his apartment building and reached for the door handle. "Thanks for the ride, Lieutenant. Have a good night."

He got out and closed the door . . . just as another opened behind him. "Sir, wait a minute." Hawkeye came around to his side of the vehicle, still with that frown on her face. "Are you sure you're all right? You really don't look like it."

"Is there something wrong with being tired?" he asked, patience beginning to wear through.

"When you've been tired for almost a week, yes," she answered, not missing a beat. "Ever since the incident with Barry, you've been spending almost all your time in the archive room, and I'm willing to bet that your research doesn't stop when you come home at night."

He turned and started for the building's front doors. "How very perceptive of you."

To his annoyance, she followed him across the lobby, past the bleak-eyed reception clerk, and into the elevator. She didn't say another word until the doors closed and he shot her a glare.

"Is there a particular reason you're here, Lieutenant?"

Impassive as always, she ignored the dirty look, watching the floor indicator light move from number to number. "You can't continue on the way you've been going, Colonel. I'm going to make sure you go to bed."

"Is that so . . . ." Pivoting to place himself between her and the doors, her back against the rear wall, he grinned. "Is that all you wanted, Lieutenant? To get me into bed?" Touching two fingertips to her chin, he leaned forward, closing the gap to mere inches. "All you had to do was ask, you know . . . ."

She was looking him in the eye, showing no sign of reaction at his being so close. Maybe it was the fatigue getting to him, but Roy suddenly had this burning desire to kiss her full on the mouth and hang the consequences. Why shouldn't he? He'd been put through the wringer in the last month, and it was high time he was rewarded for it.

Before he could act on the impulse, the elevator dinged as it reached his floor, and the door slid open. Riza's hand planted itself on his chest and pushed him back, out into the hallway. "Let's go, sir. You need to sleep."

"Hawkeye, I _can't_," he said, feeling more than a little helpless as he followed her toward his apartment.

"Oh, I'm sure you can," she said, stopping beside his door and folding her arms as she waited for him to unlock it.

"No, Hawkeye, that's just it. I actually can't sleep." He sighed, running a hand back through his hair. "For the first night or two, you're right — I didn't sleep because I was trying to find out about the Fifth Laboratory, Barry . . . what Hughes knew that got him killed . . . ." He fished his keys out of a pocket and turned to unlock the door. "But after that, whenever I tried to sleep, I just couldn't. I just laid there and stared at the ceiling. For hours."

Riza didn't say anything, just entered the apartment behind him. He didn't even bother to turn the lights on, just crossed to the couch and collapsed backward onto it. She closed the door, then moved to sit on the couch's arm behind his head.

"You could have said something, sir," she said quietly.

"Could have . . . should have . . . didn't," he muttered, one arm draped over his eyes. After a moment, he said, "Sorry, I'm really not the best company right now."

"It's all right. Why don't I help you fall asleep?"

He lifted his arm far enough to watch as she shifted to sit beside him on the couch. "And how are you going to do that?"

Two fingertips settled either side of his forehead, massaging gently in small circles. With no idea why, Roy felt himself relaxing; his eyes drifted closed. For the first time in five days, he could feel sleep creeping up on him. He remembered her doing this once in Ishval . . . after a particularly long campaign, when he hadn't slept for almost 72 hours. Who cared _why_ it worked, it did. And it just felt so damn _good_.

"Riza?" he mumbled, trying to stay awake a last few seconds.

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

* * *

_Don't forget to review, people! Thoughts on the chapter, fan rants, whatever. _


	51. Embracing from the Back

_A/N: I'm SO sorry for being late this week, everyone! I started regular shifts for the summer at my job, and it's got me pretty tired by the time I got home; for that reason, I completely forgot about updating. _

_As it so happens, I am turning this particular oneshot into a comic; I'm up to four pages and only a quarter of the way done, so we'll see how long it takes! To avoid confusion, this is set after Conqueror of Shamballa. HAPPY ROYAI WEEK!_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Fifty-one - Embracing From the Back**

Havoc was waiting for him as he approached Central Command for the second time that day. Being back here felt odd after so long in the north, but it felt _right_. This was where he really belonged.

The sandy-haired man saluted when Roy was within earshot. "Glad you got back safely, sir. That was good work."

"Thanks; I'm glad you made it through all right." Scanning the surrounding area, filled with civilians, soldiers, rubble, and suits of armour, Roy shook his head at the destruction. "What's the death toll?"

"They're still counting," Havoc said grimly. "Last I heard, it was just over one hundred."

Standing there, at the base of the stairs to the main entrance, they watched the movements of the people. Medical facilities were being set up from trucks or in buildings surrounding the plaza, with the injured gathering near them and undergoing triage. Those with the most serious wounds were seen to first, others waiting patiently for their turn. Military personnel and civilians were sifting through building wreckage for anyone buried in the rubble. Corpses were laid out in orderly rows, respectfully covered with tarpaulins. Breda joined them within minutes, followed shortly after by Falman and Fuery. The only one missing was . . . .

"Have any of you seen Lieutenant Hawkeye?" Roy asked, arms folded, his right eye still searching the people in the plaza for that one familiar face.

The voice that went with it echoed from behind the little group. "What are you all standing around for?" As one, the five men turned to see the woman in question coming down the steps from the base carrying a stack of blankets. Two young men in uniform followed behind her, similarly burdened.

Dropping her stack into Havoc's arms, she pointed him toward a growing group of people that were huddled to one side of the plaza. "Take these over there; Breda, go with him and help hand them out." Both men stared at her, before glancing at Roy; were they supposed to obey her orders, or his?

Hawkeye's attention shifted to Fuery; he twitched involuntarily. "We need to request special aid from the other bases. Take Falman to help you organize a list of supplies." Without waiting for a reply, she turned and started back up the stairs to the headquarters' entrance.

Clearing his throat uneasily, Falman looked to his newly returned commanding officer. "Sir? What do we do?"

"I said _move_," Hawkeye's voice snapped from halfway up the steps. The four junior officers jumped, startled.

Roy sighed, then headed after his adjutant. "You heard the lady," he told the others. "Hop to it." Four pairs of footsteps hurried off as he continued after Hawkeye, watching for her to turn around. She was obviously angry, and he was positive that it was directed at him. Reaching the top of the stairs, he picked up his pace. "Hey, Hawkeye! Wait up!"

She glanced back at him, then faced forward and kept walking. Catching up, Roy fell into step beside her. "I know I've said that Central is boring, but today was overkill in breaking the monotony," he commented, trying to break the ice. "It's been a while since we've been in an all-out battle like that."

Hawkeye didn't answer, didn't even look at him. She still wore her helmet, Roy noted; she was pure business and no amount of humour or casual commentary on his part would break her out of that. He had to meet her on her level, had to get serious, take her anger head-on, and let her blow off steam.

Taking hold of her arm, he towed her sideways into an empty office, and then let go. He closed the door, locked it and faced her.

Her expression was perfectly blank – too perfectly. He knew from experience just how tight a leash she kept on her emotions, and as well as he knew her, he was certain that, just underneath the surface, there was something that was pure rage and cold fury.

"I just saw you two hours ago and the first thing you did was smile," he said, folding his arms. "Did you get sick of me that fast?"

Her voice was soft when she finally spoke. "Do you have any idea of how much you've put your men through?"

It wasn't the question he was expecting; Roy frowned in puzzlement. "What?"

"It's nothing short of a miracle that none of us were discharged from the service for what we did," she said, ignoring his confusion. "Major Armstrong had to pull every string within reach at the Investigations Office just to make sure none of us wound up in prison, let alone for us to stay in Central. While _you_ —" The finger she pointed at him suddenly seemed as dangerous as a knife. "— just lit out for the north without telling _anyone_ what you were up to."

Lifting both hands in a placating gesture, Roy ventured forward a step. "I just needed some time to sort things out. Losing a body part isn't that easy, Riza."

Her eyes narrowed at the use of her first name. "Don't you talk to me about losing something important. Three years, Roy. _Three. Years._" Reaching up, she slid the helmet off her head, and dropped it on a nearby desk with a loud _thunk!_. "That's how long I've been waiting to hear something — _anything_ — from you. And I'm not the only one!"

Her arm shot out, pointing toward the plaza. "Those four men who followed you from East City to Central, the four men that you specifically handpicked, were waiting just as long as I was! All we knew was that you were in the north, at some forsaken little guardpost. We didn't know how you were doing, what you were doing . . . you could have been killed in a border skirmish with Drachma, and we wouldn't have known!

"For a month and a half after you left, I don't think Fuery ever left the office; he was that busy trying to find where you'd gone, and keeping up with the work. I'd come in in the morning and find him asleep, face-down on his desk. Falman tried to help him as much as he could, but he had his own work to deal with. Breda lost about fifteen pounds, and Havoc – Havoc didn't smoke for a year."

Roy tensed as she folded her arms, still glaring. When she didn't continue, he spoke up. "And what about you?"

"Other than trying to keep us all together, you don't need to know what I did," she said darkly, finally looking away.

_Dammit . . . she cried, didn't she . . . ._

He took the opportunity to inch forward another step. "Riza . . . I'm sorry. I needed to get away and think. I'm only human, and it's not uncommon to feel the way I did when an injury like mine is sustained. You and I both know that, from Ishval." He spread his hands. "I'm not perfect, Riza."

Evaluating him for a moment, she turned away, moving to the office's window and looking out at the grounds below. ". . . . Leaving for the north without a word is only one reason why I'm angry with you," she said quietly.

". . . Oh?" She seemed calmer now, at least compared to earlier. The tension had gone out of her shoulders once her yelling was over.

"When you were going after Edward and Alphonse in that balloon," Riza said, her gaze still on the view outside. "'There's only room for one.'" A pause. "That has got to be the most insulting thing you've ever said to me."

Roy looked down as guilt started trickling in. She was right — for him to say that to her, of all people, was an affront to everything she'd ever done for him. She'd fought beside him in Ishval, dedicated her life and career to keeping him out of more trouble than he could handle, and saved him more than once. She'd put her career on the line to help him in his coup attempt, and stayed with him through his recovery from the loss of his eye. He'd disappeared for three years, leaving her to pick up the pieces, and returned only to shove her aside and hurl himself headlong into danger. She had every right to be angry with him.

Moving around the desk occupying much of the office's floorspace, he approached Riza cautiously, watching for any sign that she was about to turn and beat the living daylights out of him. She kept her arms folded tightly, her eyes focussed on the plaza outside, watching the recovery effort as he stopped behind her.

Roy slipped both arms around her, hugging her gently from the back. She'd kill him for this under normal circumstances, but in this particular moment, the gesture seemed more appropriate. Her sideswept bangs tickled his forehead as he tucked his chin over her shoulder, watching the plaza with her.

Long moments ticked past, and he was about to let go when her left hand shifted and covered his. Otherwise, she was perfectly still.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, quietly so as not to ruin the moment.

Out of the corner of his good eye, he saw her lips twitch in a small smile; not one of victory at his apology, but one that showed she understood. "I know."


	52. Hair Clip

_A/N: That time of week again, loves. Enjoy. : )_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Fifty-two - Hair Clip**

His heart nearly stopped when she literally dove behind his barricade. Her hands, stretched out to break her fall suddenly went to the back of her head in time with her yell of surprise and pain. She twisted in midair to land on the back of her scarred left shoulder, which drew a wince from him in sympathy.

Galvanized into motion, he reached out and pulled her the rest of the way behind the barricade as the gunfire continued overhead. "Are you okay?"

"_Dammit!_" Her hands were still clamped over the back of her head, obscuring her hair clip, and her eyes were squeezed shut. Yet she seemed more angry than injured.

Roy carefully pried one of her hands free, and felt his heart skip in fear; red was beginning to show through the blonde strands. "Hawkeye, I need to check that you're okay. Move your other hand." Reluctantly, she obeyed, and the clip dropped to the ground, broken in two. Fragments of bullet were in her hair, clinging to the strands by their jagged edges.

Sorting through the hair to look at her scalp, Roy was relieved to find only a long scratch as the source of the bleeding. His shoulders dropped from their high, tense position as he wrapped an arm around Riza in a hug. "It just grazed you; the clip took most of the hit."

Abruptly, she pushed herself out of his arms, one hand pulling the gun from the small of her back. Rising onto her knees, she squeezed off six shots before dropping back behind the barricade. Roy opened his mouth to say something, and immediately closed it again as he caught sight of the look on her face; it was not wise to interfere with her when she was _this_ mad.

The gunfire diminished slightly in volume, and she rose to fire off another six shots, silencing even more of the opponents. The pattern repeated until at last, a horn sounded.

"Victory goes to red team!" a voice said over the PA system. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, are you all right? Looks like you took a pretty nasty hit."

"Just fine," she called back. Getting to her feet, she glared across the field at her opponents. "Havoc! You nearly shot me in the head!"

"Sorry!"

Getting to his feet, Roy dusted himself off. "Good thing we were only using paint pellets for this exercise. With a real bullet, you'd have fragments three inches deep in the back of your skull."

Bending down, Riza scooped up the two halves of her hair clip, studying them ruefully. "It's too bad about this. At least it went down in the line of duty."

Roy held out a hand. "Here. I'll take care of it." Pieces in hand, he took a piece of chalk from his pocket and drew a transmutation circle on the top of the cement barricade. A flash of blue light later, the hair clip lay restored; he picked it up and tossed it to her. "There you go. Good as new."

"Thank you." Taking the time to brush the fragments of plastic pellet from her hair, she indicated the transmutation circle. "You still carry chalk on you? I thought you gave that up years ago."

He shrugged, tucking the chalk back into his pocket. "I keep it on me, for emergencies." He smirked. "Like if my Lieutenant breaks her hair clip for the fifth time since she bought it."

* * *

_Don't forget to review, guys! Come on, it was Royai Day on the 11th; one for your favourite OTP!_


	53. Sigh

_A/N: Being at work when it's slow, behind a cashier's counter, gives me a lot of time to write fanfics. I dread the moment some innocent child asks what I'm doing._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Fifty-three - Sigh**

He looked up from his spot on the floor, a helpless look in those dark eyes. "Oh . . . hi."

Riza's gaze travelled slowly across the dozens of papers scattered across the office floor. ". . . I would say 'good morning,' but I'm not sure what part of this is good. What happened?"

Scratching the back of his neck, Roy studied the ocean of paper he'd surrounded himself with. "Well, it started off, I got here early for that meeting with the attache from West City. But just after he left, I knocked a bunch of files off my desk and the papers went everywhere." He shrugged sheepishly. "I didn't want you to have to put them back in order, so I tried to do it myself . . . ."

His shoulders slumped. "I have no idea what the hell I'm doing."

Working her way around the wide circle of pages, Riza stepped up beside him, crouching to get a closer look. "Well . . . from what I can tell, you've got them all pretty well-sorted . . . but the problem is that you've created too many categories." She pointed first to one set of pages, then another halfway across the circle. "Timesheets and payroll calculations go hand-in-hand, so they can share a file, if they're from the same time frame. The same goes for the budget analysis and any forms for allocation of funds."

"Okay." He paused. "Now what if I told you that this is only half of it, and the rest is still in a pile behind my desk?"

Riza sighed in exasperation, knowing that the day's entire agenda had just been shot to pieces.

* * *

It wasn't often that Roy saw her truly working to keep a leash on her temper, but the man standing smugly in front of her desk seemed to be taxing her ability to do so. The mess of paperwork had only been cleaned up half an hour ago, and now this two-bit paper-pusher was giving her trouble . . . he didn't blame her for feeling irritated.

"You should have switched over to the new series of forms a week ago, Lieutenant," the clerk — a First Lieutenant, like her — said with a smirk. "What happened to prevent you from doing so?" The man couldn't see from his position, but underneath her left hand, Riza's right index finger was rapidly tapping her desktop in annoyance, just itching for a trigger to pull.

"That would be because I had been hospitalized for an injury," Roy spoke up, watching as the attache turned to face him. "As Lieutenant Hawkeye is also my bodyguard, she was duty-bound to stay with me while I was there. I apologize if that kept her from something so obviously important."

Recognizing the thinly-veiled rebuke hidden in the remark, the attache straightened his shoulders. "Of course. I'm sorry, I didn't realize she had been otherwise occupied." Turning back, he deposited the box he held on Riza's desk, then made for the door. "Whenever you need to requisition more forms, Lieutenant, you know where to find me."

"Nice guy," Roy muttered under his breath, turning back to his own work. He stole a last-minute glance at Riza, to find her giving a soft sigh of resignation as she stood to examine the box's contents.

* * *

". . . There's no way you find this comfortable."

"You're the one that fell," she murmured, eyes closed with her head on his chest.

She had a point. He had been standing with his back to her bed, holding her in the calming hug he'd wanted to give her all day, when Hayate picked that moment to playfully attack his ankles. In surprise, Roy had jerked backwards and lost his balance, falling back onto the mattress and pulling Riza down with him.

He had effectively become a human pillow . . . not that he was complaining. Moments like this were all too few and far between. Besides, he had the feeling that Riza hadn't moved simply because she was tired and couldn't be bothered to.

"There _are _subtler ways to get me into bed," he smirked.

"I wouldn't know." The palm of her hand pressed flat, almost directly over his heart. "That wasn't my intention. Again, you're the one that fell." The hint of a smile crept into her voice. "Though maybe I should be concerned about _your_ intentions."

"Where you're involved?" Roy grinned. "You have nothing to worry about." He felt her body shift as she sighed once in contentment, and let his eyes fall closed. Strange, he thought, how one little exhale could mean three totally different things . . . .


End file.
